


Emerald and Ash

by dangerheels



Series: The Liraverse [1]
Category: Egyptian Mythology, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Native American Mythology, Norse Mythology, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Loki, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Depression, F/M, Food Porn, Gen, Implied Child Abuse, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, M/M, Magic, Manpain, Mostly Gen, Odin's A+ Parenting, Poor Loki, Revenge, Sex, Songs, Torture, Violence, implied rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 106,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9392312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerheels/pseuds/dangerheels
Summary: [Post-Avengers 2012 and a canon-divergence right after the first scene of Thor: The Dark World.]After a mysterious figure helps him escape the dungeons of Asgard, Loki plots revenge upon the House of Odin.  Which might involve the Enchantress, a powerful artifact, an alluring Egyptian god, the Avengers, realm hopping, a few Greek gods thrown in just for fun, and dancing and getting drunk with said mysterious figure in Manhattan.  And since this is a Loki story, it also has lots of lies, luck, poor decisions, angst, highjinks, seexxyy time, metaphors, symbolism, blatant playing around with different mythologies, and crows... lots of crows.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I hate uploading an unfinished work, but after months of plodding away on this, I've suddenly been hit with an onslaught of writer's block. I'm hoping that uploading the chapters I have will be of some help. Feedback is much appreciated! Thanks for reading.
> 
> 2/22/17 Update: We're on the home stretch now. Unfortunately, I don't have a specific update schedule (read: adulting sucks), but I will try not to take more than four or five days between new chapters.
> 
> 3/23/17 Update: And finished! Any further updates will likely be grammatical or layout-based because I am a stupid perfectionist and can't leave well enough alone.
> 
> 6/4/18: Title changed. Sorry for the random update, but it was either this or delete my account. I shared an early draft of this fic with a coworker who I thought was a good friend, but instead he shared it with several other coworkers when I hadn't wanted it shared. Since gossip flies fast and I had hoped for my fics to remain anonymous, I am hoping to deter the possibility of my coworkers searching for and seeing the completed fic. In moments of weakness, I still consider deleting this fic entirely, but I'll try not to do that.

Prisoner. That was what Odin had called him.

“Bring the prisoner forward.”

Not “Bring ‘him’ forward,” or “Bring ‘Loki’ forward.”

And certainly not “Bring my _son_ forward.”

No, it was “Bring the prisoner forward,” then he, Loki, had shuffled ahead as smoothly as he could with his hands and feet bound in chains and guards at his elbows. A few meaningless words were exchanged, and finally the King of Asgard sentenced Loki to lifetime imprisonment in the dungeons of Asgard. He was to live out the rest of his years in captivity below the very place he had grown up, _the house of lies_. Loki had thought it would’ve bothered him terribly, his proximity to the palace: the constant visits from Thor, hand-wringing, talking, pleading with him every other day as Loki’s former blood brother tried to make sense of his pathetic feelings of guilt or wounded anger.

But Thor never came. Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun--the people Loki had grown up with, played with, broke bread and drank ale with, fought alongside when Asgard had needed defending... No one came to see him. No one cared enough to wonder why he had done the things he did.

Except for his mother. Not his _real_ mother, of course. Loki did not know his real mother, nor did he desire to. No, his only visitor was Frigga, the Asgardian woman whom he had thought was his real mother for more years than he cared to recall, and who was the only reason why he hadn’t been put to death. This slight, armor-less (though hardly delicate) woman would appear at the edge of his cell, peering at him through the clear, unbreakable glass that separated them. Oftentimes, Loki’s heart would leap slightly at the sight of her, and he hated it and hated himself for being so sentimental, so weak. But try as he might, he could not bring himself to focus that hatred onto her like he had done with the others. And so, as the days melted into each other, he looked forward to her visits (even if he did not show it).

She would often stop by under the pretense of bringing him books (which he devoured after she was gone; _anything_ to pass the time). Their exchanges were usually brief. No matter how Frigga seemed to try, their conversations were hardly deep or revealing. This was Loki’s doing. He kept his answers short, his questions few. It was better this way, he’d tell himself after she would leave. Ever since he had learned of his true parentage, he had not wanted anyone close to him. Not anymore. In fact, he soon convinced himself that he had never let anyone get close to him, not once, not even Frigga, and deep down, he feared what would happen if he did. And he hated to feel fear.

During one of her visits, Frigga had replied to one of Loki’s accusatory declarations of his current state by gently mentioning how many pitiful humans he had killed during his time in Midgard. Loki had laughed.

“A mere handful compared to the numbers Odin has taken himself,” he had said.

Frigga’s mouth had remained a thin line. It was well known that Odin’s past was covered in the blood of conquest and betrayal, yet no one seemed to bat an eye. How was Loki any different? This thought seemed to echo in his mind for hours on end after she had left.

During her latest visit, when Loki had corrected her for the umpteenth time that Odin was _not_ his father, Frigga responded with a question that stung his heart:

“Then am I not your mother?”

“You’re not,” he said after a short pause. He was feeling particularly low that morning and he knew his answer would hurt her.

And just like he had predicted, her eyes filled with tears, and she turned away, walking silently out from his line of sight. The sting in his chest did not leave him for the rest of the day. He laid there on his cot, staring up at nothing, his thoughts festering.

Maybe her visits were a figment of his imagination, of his decaying mind. Maybe no one visited him.

Maybe he was alone. “For all of eternity,” he whispered to himself. “It appears to be my destiny….”

*  *  *  *

“Eternity,” a rough voice spat, punctuating the interminable quiet of the void. “What does _he_ know about eternity?” The voice trailed off into an angry hiss.

Out of the emptiness came a new voice, but this one was completely opposite the first: light and airy with a decidedly feminine tinge. “You mustn’t get so worked up over the younger gods, Brother Dear,” the voice said calmly. “They don’t have _us_ to guide them.”

A shape started to appear out of the void, and if the void itself wasn’t nightmarish, this new shape was: the body of a human male with three large green serpents sprouting from the body’s thick neck instead of a head. The serpents’ eyes flashed red as they undulated this way and that, closing and opening fanged mouths. The rest of the creature’s body looked like the peak of human condition: smooth tanned skin stretching over a bare, muscular chest; arms and legs that looked like they could hold up the edge of the Earth; hands, large with long fingers; bare feet with neatly manicured toenails; a narrow waist with sharply defined abdominals; and below that, almost like an afterthought, a simple white loincloth covering the man’s (no doubt) well-endowed nethers.

As Gaea watched, still bodiless, the man-creature made a threatening fist. The gravelly voice resounded again, seeming to come from all around. “Pity. I’d so very much like to _guide_ them.”

Not for the first time, Gaea silently thanked this dimension’s impregnable walls. If Set hadn’t been banished to this prison over three billion years ago, Earth’s evolving life-forms, those whom she deeply cared for, would likely not have survived Set’s wickedness. She hated to think of her brother as an evil thing, but she had to, if only to remind herself of his trickery. Despite the garishness of his favorite appearance, the mind that existed within was as twisted and sharp as a thornbush. Consequently, Gaea’s frequent visits to her brother’s prison were for two reasons: to keep a keen eye on him, and to distract him from trying to think of nefarious means of escape. Today, she had a new distraction planned.

“Care to play a game, Brother Dear?”

Without warning, the emptiness around them changed. It _filled_. Massive oak trees began materializing all around, rising up from the carpet of lush grass that had sprouted from beneath Set’s feet. A wash of blue appeared overhead, looking like the loveliest, cloudless Earth-sky. Patches of brightly-colored flowers were springing up out of the grass, and when one patch shot up between Set’s feet, he stumbled back a few steps and the snake heads hissed their displeasure. There was a popping noise that sounded like the unstopping of a cork, and a second later, a slender waterfall appeared out of thin air to descend into a lake that was rapidly forming several feet away. A bright sun took its place in the “sky,” and its rays now fell upon all manner of living things: birds that soared overhead, chirping loudly as they flew; a trio of deer that skittered through underbrush as tall as their flanks; holly that snaked its way up tree trunks; small insects that buzzed and hummed. And through the picturesque scene walked a figure.

She was as green as the forest around her--her skin, her hair, her eyes, all were the same color--but despite that, she looked entirely human. And, unlike her brother, she wasn’t what her beloved mortals would call physically ideal. She had far too many wrinkles and too many wild tangles in her hair. She wasn’t terribly slender or graceful, and her clothes were simply scraps of dull-colored fabric held together with ties. But just like the sun, she radiated warmth and tranquility, and Set’s body seemed to bristle at this most of all as she approached.

“ _Hssch_. Must you, Sister?”

Gaea surmised that the snake heads would sneer if they could. She knew that Set despised her token form as much as she did his. Coming to a stop before him, she pressed her lips together and lifted her chin defiantly.

“It is a reminder,” she said, “of all the wonderment you seek to destroy.”

“By all means, fill up _my_ prison with _your_ loves.” An exaggerated sigh rattled through the air. “I feel my heart just brimming with peace and goodness already.”

Gaea shot him an annoyed look, and she could have sworn by the jerking of their heads that the trio of snakes had all tried to shoot her one back but lacked the necessary features to do so. Finding the corners of her mouth curling ever-so-faintly upwards, she bent her legs so that she could sit in a wooden chair that was materializing with her movement. A matching chair appeared opposite her, and a small wooden table settled between them. Last to appear was a chess set, with the plain white pieces lined up on Gaea’s side of the table.

The Serpent God looked at the chess set for a moment, then he seated himself in front of the black pieces without a word.

Idly, Gaea began straightening her pieces. “Winner gets to decide the loser’s form,” she said, not looking up.

“For how long?”

“A millennium.”

“ _Hssch_. An eyeblink. Make it five.”

“What do _you_ know about blinking?” Gaea retorted with a smirk. “Fine. Five millennia it is.”

The snakes were calmer now as three sets of red eyes scrutinized the board.

“Let’s make this more interesting,” Set’s voice drawled suddenly, and Gaea felt the sting of her brother’s dark magic encircle the chess pieces. For a moment she was blinded, but then her eyesight returned and she looked down to see that the pieces had transformed. They were colorful now and very detailed, and with a jolt she realized that they were perfect tiny replicas of several of her dear ones: humans and young gods of Earth, all of whom she knew by name.

Set picked up a tall figure with black hair, and a snake head lowered to peer at it. “Let’s let the pieces play themselves,” he said finally, his smugness made plain as he leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over a knee.

A small crease appeared between Gaea’s eyebrows, and the crease sharpened as she spied one of her sons and even a granddaughter among the pieces on Set’s side.

“I don’t like--”

“Play the game or get out of here,” Set snapped as he sat up and slammed the figure back into its place on the board.

Gaea winced. Suddenly wary, she glanced up at the snake heads; all three were perfectly still and staring at her. The Earth Mother’s heart was heavy in her chest as she finally nodded. The serpents resumed their hypnotic undulating, and Gaea knew that, if they could, the snake heads would be smiling.

Set leaned back in his chair again, and his piece moved forward on its own accord. “ _Hssssssch_. May the best Elder win.”

A familiar thrum of worry begin to beat against her breast as she eyed the figure. Already, Set was cheating.


	2. Masks

His cell was bright--the walls a stark white--and the brightness hurt his eyes. He had but one view: the cell across from him, which was empty. The few objects that were trapped with him--a small bed, a desk, the large stack of books by the back wall--were meticulously kept in order. _He_ was also pristine with not a hair out of place and his full Asgardian regalia on his person (well, minus his golden helmet whose curved horns would hit the ceiling). He remained dignified and unconcerned in his captivity... or so that was the image he projected. There was some sort of powerful spell on his cell to keep his magic diminished, and he could access just enough to perform this illusion. Even though the effort tired him, it was important. He would not give them the satisfaction of knowing how much he suffered.

The dungeons were empty, or rather, the walkway was, the only other thing he could see. There were other people nearby, prisoners trapped just like him; he would hear them clamor in anger and frustration upon their arrival. “New friends,” he would joke solemnly to himself. But their spirits would break eventually, and the dungeons would be silent until the next batch of unlucky souls was marched in. It had been quiet for some time now, and Loki was left alone with his thoughts.

When a shadow appeared at the left edge of his cell, he did not stir. From where he sat--crosslegged against the back wall with a book in his lap--he could see the shadow out of the corner of his eye. The person it belonged to had stepped up to the glass and was standing there in the silence, watching him. Loki did not look up.

“What books have you brought me this time, Mother?” he drawled as he casually turned a page. “Something more exciting than _Asgard: A History_ , perchance? I practically have that memorized.”

More silence. Loki’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and finally, he looked up.

Someone who has definitely _not_ Frigga was standing in her usual spot.

She was considerably younger than Frigga, resembling an unkempt teenager with wild, dark curls that stuck out all over her head. She was shorter than her, too, but only by a few inches; Loki reckoned that if he stood, the top of the girl’s unruly hair would only reach the middle of his chest. But she was slender like Frigga, with small, delicate palms pressed up against the glass as she gazed at him.

Immediately, he rose and moved closer. He peered back at her, his nose inches from the glass. Her face… he could barely see any of it, given that everything below her eyes was covered in a ratty white scarf. But her _eyes_ \--they were all he needed to see. They were almond-shaped and rimmed with long, black eyelashes, but the irises were a color he had never seen before: a golden yellow, tinged with earthy browns--an explosion of deep, otherworldly color. The strength of her gaze was just as powerful; it was as if she could see straight past his illusion--the physical one, as well as the many others that made up his heart. The corners of his mouth dipped into a frown as he surveyed the rest of her. She was wearing a simple white dress that was just as ragged as the cloth that covered her face. _That_ piece of fabric twined downwards around her neck, hiding the brown skin there from view, but Loki thought he saw the tip of a jagged scar peeking out from the gap between the scarf and her dress.

Wanting to provoke her into speaking first, Loki remained silent. The minutes ticked by as the pair simply stared at each other through the glass. Finally, his annoyance rising, Loki spoke.

“Yes, what is it?”

And to Loki’s surprise, she did not answer. The silence stretched between them, heavier than the dungeon’s usual forlorn stillness.

Angrily, Loki tried again. “Like what you see?” he asked in a mocking tone. Still she said nothing, but her hands left the glass, and she motioned for him to back up. After a slight questioning pause, he stepped back a few paces.

Her eyes moved from his face to focus on the barrier between them, and suddenly he felt something peculiar, like a large, invisible weight had been lifted from his body. He hadn’t noticed he had been feeling that way, and Loki did not like that at all, but he decided to ignore the feeling for now and keep watching her. She stretched her right hand towards the glass and then stopped, the tip of her index finger an inch away from the surface. Slowly, her alien gaze slid back to his face, and he held back a grimace as that uncomfortable feeling washed over him again. Then her finger touched the glass. It was still for a moment, just like her, but then a large ripple spread across its surface, bucking like an Asgardian steed. As the ripple reached the edges, there was a blinding flash of white light, and then-- The glass vanished. Loki stared. He took four halting steps to the front of his cell then stepped down onto the dungeon walkway. He looked around himself in wonder. The other occupants of the dungeon were coming out of their melancholy stupor to peer at him from inside their cells. Loki’s shoulders raised and then lowered in a sigh of satisfaction.

He was free.

With a subtle smile on his face, he looked behind him. The girl was already walking towards the closed doors at the other end of the hall. When she reached them, she stopped and looked back at him. Once again she motioned to him, obviously wanting him to follow her. Without hesitation, he started towards her, his previous feeling of annoyance morphing into curiosity. She must be a powerful sorceress indeed to have been able to break Odin’s spell so easily.

“We should take the stairs to the left,” he said to her when they reached the dark, empty foyer on the other side of the doors. Her eyes acknowledged him for just a second before she wordlessly strode across the hall to the staircase on the right.

“Did you hear me?” Loki hissed as he hurried after her. “This way will lead to the main hallway and a throng of guards who will make quick work of you.”

 _Or more likely just me_ , he thought crossly. The moment he had stepped out of his cell, he had tested his magic and found that the invisible bonds that had restrained his power still lingered. He was sure that if he could get far away from Odin’s magic, he would recover his own. But first he had to get out of the palace undetected.

They reached the top of the stairs. Odin’s throne room was through the large gilded doors to the left. Thankfully, the doors were closed and no guards were stationed before them, so they sneaked further into the room. The expansive hallway to the right was several yards long, stretching from the palace’s main entrance to the steps that led up to Odin’s throne room. The fancy carpeted walkway that lay in the middle of the hall was lined on either side with impressive columns that reached from floor to ceiling. Four of Loki's simulacra would have to stand with arms outstretched and hands clasped to be able to reach around each column.

With a fluid motion, Loki slipped silently behind the nearest column and peered around. Just as he had warned, heavily-armored palace guards were dotted here and there, standing in pairs by columns or underneath the large glass windows that bathed the hall in sunlight.

“What did I tell you?” he turned to growl at his companion--but she was gone. Immediately, he caught sight of her standing calmly in the middle of the walkway at the beginning of the hall--right in plain view. He hissed at her, trying to get her attention, but just like before she ignored him. His scowl deepened. Intrigued though he was by her, he was not going to be so easily captured and put right back into his cell. Thoughts moved in his mind. There were other less conspicuous ways out of the palace, back the way they had come...

“Halt! Who goes there?”

A metallic-sounding clamor filled the air as a pair of guards hurried towards the girl, their golden spears raised. Stopping a few feet from her, they pointed their spears towards her masked face.

“Who are you?” a guard demanded again. “What is your business in the palace?”

Even though his instincts were screaming at him to flee, Loki found himself frozen behind the pillar, watching curiously. She was so calm, almost detached, as she faced these menacing men who towered over her, brandishing their weapons right under her covered nose. Maybe she had some tricks up her tattered sleeves.

A quiet minute came and went. The guards were starting to get uneasy. The only sound was the slight jostling of their armor as they shifted nervously from side to side.

"Who--" the guard said again, but she never let him finish. She… _changed_. Loki watched with astonishment as her eyes--the ones he thought could not get any more unusual--began to _darken_. The darkness pooled and then seemed to spill over her eyelids, spreading out to the sides of her face like sickly-looking black veins. She shifted, and it was a small, quiet movement--the slightest of crouches--but there was a danger in its subtlety. Like a man-eater about to pounce, her whole body had tensed, and even from his position behind the pillar, Loki could feel a building up of something inside her. They could all feel it: power, coiling in on itself, readying itself, filling the room with heat--and then she raised her hand. The guard who had spoken began to scream.

His arms and legs were on fire! Out of nowhere, the flames appeared, licking viciously across his limbs, and he started to flail helplessly as an unseen force lifted him into the air. The tongues of flame traveled towards his chest, and the remains of his charred limbs began to disintegrate. His eyes were wild and he never stopped screaming, even as the unstoppable fire consumed every part of him, his spear, his armor, his helmet, his head. All that was left were pieces of ash floating in the air where he had stood.

It was pandemonium. The man's screams had alerted the other guards who were now rushing towards the girl, yelling curses and battle cries. The other guard near her had stumbled back a few steps, staring in shock at the remains of his friend, but now with an angry yell, he too, was bearing down at her. She moved gracefully around him, evading his attacks with ease--once, twice, three times. She was letting him come so close, his spear thrusts nipped her hair and grazed her dress, but she seemed unconcerned--even as she watched as flames finally burst all over his body, turning him to ash just like his companion. With him gone, her deadly gaze moved to the oncoming throng.

It was like Loki was watching a dance. A wondrous, murderous dance. Every step she took, every movement, was beautiful. And full of power. Here in front of him, she nimbly dodged two separate spear thrusts and flitted away. Over there, she was arching her back and raising her arms high as her hands seemed to conduct bursts of flame that had erupted onto the attackers that now surrounded her. She bobbed and weaved and side-stepped and twirled, and death occurred wherever she pointed. The air was thick with smoke and screams. And the whole time, her eyes burned black and the scarf around the lower part of her face remained tightly wrapped around her neck. She did not utter a sound.

The ash was settling. During the fight, Loki had unconsciously moved away from the cover of the column to stand near the back of the hall, staring open-mouthed at the spectacle before him. This was not what he had expected. As his rescuer got up slowly from a crouched position and looked back at him with eyes that were golden once again, he did not have a word to say... for the first time in his life.

After that, their journey from the palace was uneventful. Loki did not know where she was leading him, but he knew why he still followed her: the girl was powerful indeed. He wanted to know more about her. Such a person could become a new ally. Or, and here he smiled darkly to himself, he could find a way to take her power for his own.

They were walking swiftly through the royal forest that surrounded the palace, darting to and from the shadows that the large oaks provided. The air was cool on Loki’s face, and he breathed in deeply, enjoying his newfound freedom. It was then that he realized he was happy… or at least happier than he had been in quite some time. It had been maddening, his captivity. _Horrid_. He did not know exactly how long he had been trapped in the bowels of Odin’s palace, but he _did_ know that it had been long enough for his thoughts and feelings to spiral downwards into the blackest of pits. Some days he had been all rage, pacing his cell like a caged wildcat, his hands clenching and unclenching as if they were desperate for something to strangle, to tear. And other days, he had sat there on his cot or on the floor, a book lying unseen in his lap, its pages worn from his many thumb-throughs. Those days were the worst, he would realize, for even though he still saw and breathed and thought, he felt numb, terribly numb, like he was nothing but a stone. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the numbness had spread. A thought would pass by like a wind-blown leaf, but he would not react. It was odd. He could still feel the rage and the sadness, and either one of those emotions could rise to the surface of his mind to hold his attention for awhile, but… The deadening was always there. He could feel, but he couldn’t. He could ruminate--complicated schemes that were as twisted as his heart--but the numbness was always there, below the surface, threatening to swallow him whole.

And now he was free from that dark place… well, _physically_ free, at least. As the breeze teased his hair and played on his neck, he felt his mind slowly start to awaken from its mad stupor. His eyes fell onto the back of the mysterious girl leading him. Bits of ash still clung to her hair. His smile broadened as his thoughts began to churn, and for the first time since his capture, the coldness in his chest seemed not to dull him, but to electrify.

He would have his revenge.

It took them two days to reach the Nordheide cliffs that bordered Asgard’s northwest flank, and their trek together had been an easy one, although rather quiet. Every question, every dry quip Loki had uttered was met with silence and the briefest of glances from his companion, until finally, he stopped talking altogether. But this did not bother him, for Loki had always been quite comfortable with just his thoughts for companionship. He also was considerably skilled in patience, in playing the “long game.” He knew that he would get all the answers he needed in time.

The Nordheide cliffs formed the beginning of the Nordvordr mountains whose numerous, snow-capped peaks rose straight into the clouds, offering the city of Asgard natural protection from any rival armies coming down from the north. Well, except for the tunnels and caves that wove their way through the sprawling stone giants, but they were known only to one. Before his assault on Midgard, Loki had taken refuge in a cave that was so deep into the mountain range, the thick stone walls had been perfect supports for the many spells Loki had cast to hide his magical presence from prying eyes. Loki surveyed the massive limestone peaks before him and the girl did the same. These mountains had allowed Loki to hide right under Odin’s nose, something that pleased Loki greatly at the time. It felt good to be back.

He didn’t react when his companion led him straight through one of the secret entrances at the base of the nearest rockface that he had magicked to look just like the stone around it. Nor did he react when light flared up all around them to illuminate the dark stone tunnel (the girl really seemed to favor unspoken incantations). He adopted her serene demeanor as she swiftly led him through the winding, low-hanging passageway and did not say a word when she walked straight to the mouth of one of the caves that Loki had inhabited during his period of hiding. Once he stepped inside, however, his uncaring facade changed.

The stone ceiling hung low over his head, but he could still stand up comfortably. Light from bracketed torches on the walls cast dancing shadows into every corner of the long room. The back rock wall contained another opening into which more torchlight flickered, but this did not concern him. What did catch his attention was the large stone chair that sat in the middle of the cavern. When Loki had conjured it up out of the rock during his last stay in the cave, it had been his favorite place to sit as he pondered his many twisting schemes. He had been meticulous in its design; it looked just like the throne of Asgard, down to every last detail: the dais with its four smooth steps leading up to the chair, the two large arches that reached out on either side like wings, the Asgardian circular flourishes that were etched onto every surface. When he had traveled to Midgard, he had left it empty. But at this very moment, it was certainly _not_ empty.

A woman was seated in it and she was very beautiful. Deliberately, his eyes traveled over her, and she smiled as if pleased. Her hair was long and blonde and held back from her face by a green-colored metal headpiece that covered her forehead like a crown. Her dress was also green, as were her large, darkly-rimmed eyes that winked up at him like emeralds. Her wide, red lips; her sharp cheekbones; the milky skin that stretched over her collarbone and down to the curves of her chest (serving as a canvas for the flickering torchlight)--all came together to make her a lovely sight indeed.

Loki recognized her immediately. Moving towards her, his face split into a smile that his eyes did not mirror.

“Enchantress,” he drawled.

“Loki. How wonderful to see you looking so… regal. So... _kingly_.”

“And you so… _perky_ ,” Loki said, echoing her glib, condescending tone. “So full of life. Exile’s been good to you, then?”

Amora smiled prettily. “Absolutely wonderful.”

She reached out a lazy hand--but not to him--to the girl who had stood silently by Loki’s side during this brief exchange. Immediately, the girl’s confident posture changed. She dropped to the ground and began slowly walking on her hands and knees towards the woman, skittish and and afraid, like a wounded animal. When the girl had reached the woman’s feet, she began clutching at the Enchantress’ billowing skirt, grabbing handfuls of the gauzy material and holding it to her face as if it comforted her. Loki stared. The Enchantress let her grovel for a moment before reaching down and pulling the girl into her lap.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Amora murmured as she smoothed the girl’s hair. “You did well. I am pleased.”

The girl quieted and dug her head into the woman’s corseted torso like a child cowering at her mother’s breast. Amora continued to pat her head in a way that was not at all motherly. Finally, the girl’s breathing slowed and she stilled, one slender arm wrapped around Amora’s waist. The Enchantress’ own arms settled around her, and she looked down at Loki with a smug, satisfied expression on her face.

“Isn’t she marvelous?”

“Yes,” replied Loki. “What a lovely little killer.” He had spoken without emotion, but it had been a lie. His mind had reeled with surprise and disgust at the display. He was sure that the girl could flatten Amora with one bored sweep of her arm. Why was his rescuer acting like she was frightened of this paltry Asgardian sorceress?

“Who is she?” he found himself asking.

“You mean ‘What is she?’” the Enchantress corrected. “Something I had been seeking for a very long time.” Her voice took on a rolling, dramatic tone. “Surely you remember the old tales? The ones about the old gods that existed before Asgard, before even our old ones, the beings who created us. It was said that the most powerful and wisest of these old gods was the Demiurge, and he ruled over the nothingness that existed before the birth of the nine realms...”

Here, Loki angrily swallowed down a sigh. He knew this-- _All_ Asgardians knew this. But he let the Enchantress continue.

“But, as often happens, the Demiurge grew bored of the darkness, and one day, took some of it and formed a star. It was beautiful and delicate, and he would stare at it for days as it glimmered in between his hands. But he grew tired of it as well, so he began playing with it again, molding it this way and that. Until--” and here she paused for effect, her right forefinger pointed dramatically towards the ceiling. (Loki stifled an eye roll.)

“--he settled on a new shape: a woman, so beautiful, he fell in love with her instantly and lay with her. _She_ is the result,” Amora said, sweeping an open palm down at the girl curled up on her lap. Loki’s eyebrows rose incredulously. This, he didn’t know.

“When the Demiurge saw the product of his tryst, he was pleased. Just like he had done with her mother, he molded his daughter into what delighted him most. It is rumored that our old ones modeled us after his wondrous creation. Not only did he make her lovelier than the stars, he gave her power, too. His power. But not his wisdom, for he was growing old and paranoid from the multitude of millennia he had spent in the darkness. He did not want her to overthrow him one day, so he made her docile, mindless. Easily controlled.” Amora smiled coldly before continuing. “Despite his precautions, she was his downfall in the end, acting under the command of one of his enemies, our forefather.” Looking satisfied with her retelling, she settled back into her chair.

Loki’s eyebrows were furrowed. “Why have I not heard this tale before?”

“Because Odin kept it from you. He kept it from all citizens of Asgard.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Really? You are surprised that he would keep something from you?”

Loki remained silent, his eyes like black coals in the dim light. Finally, in a tone that was more heated than he intended, he spoke.

“And where has she been all this time?”

The Enchantress shifted in her seat, flipping long strands of her hair over a bare shoulder before replying.

“Since the fall of the Demiurge and the rise of man, she has been passed from master to master, destroying kingdoms upon command. She was particularly damaging on Midgard, where she has no equal. There, I believe the mortals she came in contact with called her “Asura,” the anti-god. The god killer.” Amora paused deliberately, gazing down at Loki with the hint of a knowing, sinister smile. “For more than a millennia she has been masterless and dormant, lost in the turning of the worlds... until _I_ found her.”

She seemed to sigh wistfully as the stroked the girl’s tattered sleeve. “Ultimate power personified,” the woman said to no one in particular.

“Why haven’t you tried to take her power for yourself?” Loki asked, breaking her reverie.

Amora snorted. “I don’t need to possess that kind of power, only wield it.”

Loki smiled thinly. “If you tried to possess that sort of power, it would consume you.”

Her pretty mouth frowned, but she did not refute him. Instead, to Loki’s surprise, her hand shot up and smacked the girl hard across her face. The girl fell to the woman’s feet and lay there, shaking and bowing her head low in servitude. The edges of Loki’s lips slipped downwards before he could stop himself. Noticing, the Enchantress leaned forward in her chair, looking pleased, and said in a dramatic whisper,

“Trust me, it’s more fun this way.”

“Aren’t you afraid that she will turn on you?” Loki asked after a slight pause.

“She can’t.”

“And why is that?”

Amora studied a nail with an air of unconcern. “Ultimate power has its price,” she said airily.

Once again, Loki’s thoughts were reeling from the mass of new information, but he kept his composure, adopting an indifferent tone.

“I suppose you haven’t gone to all the trouble of freeing me and bringing me here to show off your little… pet.”

“Aren’t you a smart one?” she sang. “I need you for something.”

Mimicking boredom, Loki looked upwards at the ceiling.

“I want you to steal something from Odin.”

 _This_ got his attention, and the Enchantress continued smoothly, “It’s an amulet with a large ruby in the center and a gold chain. You’ll know it when you see it; there is no mistaking it.”

Loki didn’t bother asking what it was because he knew that she would not tell him. Instead, he declared haughtily: “Such a thing does not exist in the vault in Odin’s palace.”

“Do you honestly think that the All-father, the ruler of the nine realms, would keep all his treasures in only one vault?” she asked, her voice high with incredulity.

Loki glowered at her then silently turned his anger towards Odin. It was _just_ like Odin to keep this from him. Oh, the All-father’s comeuppance will be grand, indeed.

The Enchantress was saying something. “--has at least three other secret vaults that I’ve discovered. The one you’ll be going to is in Vanaheim. It’ll be easy.”

“If it’s so easy, why don’t you get it yourself?”

Amora barked a laugh. “Because _I_ don’t want to,” she replied, her voice dripping with smug amusement.

Loki said nothing, letting the silence build up slowly, menacingly. Finally: “And if _I_ don’t want to?”

The Enchantress smiled as if his question pleased her. She nodded towards the masked figure who still lay hunched on the dais by his throne.

“She’ll kill you,” she said, as if commenting on something as trivial as the weather. “I’ll command her to.”

Loki snorted derisively and then leered. “You’re foolish to think she could defeat me.”

Still smiling, Amora rose. She swept past the girl and walked towards Loki, moving in close.

“Want to test it?” she drawled, her eyes hooded as she gazed up at him.

Loki looked down at her for a long moment. Then he mirrored her alluring expression with one of his own.

“The more important question is,” he said slowly, and his face was inches from hers, “what makes you think you can trust _me_?”

The Enchantress did not move. “I can tell that you haven’t gotten all your magic back,” she replied, tapping an index finger on his chest. “Odin still has his _hold_ over you.” At this, he stiffened and his face became a cold mask. She winked up at him then turned and swept back towards his throne. “It will take some time for you to get it back,” she said, “and rest, which I am not allowing you.” The woman sank elegantly into the chair. “I bet you couldn’t even turn a rock into a butterfly right now.”

It was true. In between her banal chit chat, he had been testing his magic, imperceptibly, so she wouldn’t notice. The power he possessed (which his mind’s eye had always pictured as a raging green fire within him) was low, almost nonexistent. Nothing but sputtering embers… and ash, like the guards the girl had killed with her magic. A plan started to take shape in Loki's mind, and he made a show of stifling an annoyed sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “I will get your little trinket for you.”

Amora clapped her hands together in mock delight. “Wonderful.” She settled into his chair and placed her chin on top of folded hands. She eyed him for a moment then fixed him with a mischievous, cat-like smile. “There’s more.”

Unsurprised, Loki said nothing.

“Odin, being his untrustworthy self, has placed powerful magic on the vault to ward off treasure seekers. Only someone of royal blood can enter it safely.”

“Didn’t you hear?” snapped Loki, unable to remain quiet. “I’m _not_ of royal blood.”

Amora’s smile widened. “No matter,” she said lightly. “Any old prince of Asgard will do.” She indicated the royal seal consisting of three interlocking triangles that was etched into his leather gauntlets. “The guard there will recognize the House of Odin. But that’s the easy part. Once inside, you will face… obstacles.”

“What sort of obstacles?” asked Loki, still annoyed.

“You haven’t grown numb to your past, have you? Wiped your pathetic ruse of a childhood from your mind?”

“I’ll never forget it,” Loki replied darkly.

“Good. From what I have gathered, you’ll need that knowledge to get through safely.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?” Sarcastically, he clicked his tongue. “Ah. Let me guess. You’ve learned the location of the vault but you stopped there. You have no idea about the kind of obstacles that await me.”

The Enchantress snorted then waved a hand flippantly. “Why should I care? It’s not _my_ problem now, is it?”

“How am I supposed to get past whatever hexes Odin has conjured up if I don’t have my magic?” he questioned, his voice tight as he fought the urge to clench his fists in exasperation.

“That is why _she_ is going with you,” she replied. At this, Amora grasped the girl’s thin shoulders roughly and dragged them up so that a sliver of air was all that separated the girl’s masked face from her own.

“Obey him,” she ordered sternly. “Unless he tries to betray me, of course.” Here, she smirked, casting a haughty glance at Loki before continuing. “Which we know he won’t. So follow his lead, and do what he says.” The Enchantress paused. Then her eyes flashed and her voice became a threatening growl as she stared into the girl’s face. “ _Don’t_ disappoint me.”

Her fingers opened; the girl slid to the ground. And without a word, the girl was on her feet and sweeping silently past Loki to the open door. She did not have to look back; Loki had already turned (also without a word or glance behind him) and started walking after her. He could feel the Enchantress’ smirk burning into his back as he left. He forced his angry feelings under control and his shoulders relaxed. He would deal with her when he returned.

“I know of a way to get to Vanaheim,” he said when they had stepped free of the dim mountain tunnel and into the bright Asgardian sun. “There’s a rift in these mountains, two days walk from here--”

The girl had been ignoring him, but abruptly she raised her right hand and he halted. Saying nothing, she began swirling her hand in the air in front of her. A powerful whooshing sound began to follow her movements, and suddenly a rift split the air before them. To the untrained eye, it would have gone unnoticed--if it hadn’t been wide open and displaying the bountiful green fields of Vanaheim. Loki fought with his feelings of surprise and jealousy. It had taken him years to find a way to travel between worlds without the use of the Bifrost, and he still couldn’t create the portals, only locate them. For what was quickly becoming a tiring task, he suppressed a grimace as he followed the girl through the rift to Vanaheim.


	3. The Crow Prince

Vanaheim was a sister-realm to Asgard. Its landscape was reminiscent of Asgard’s, only... smaller. Instead of dense, species-rich forests there were bright woodlands that offered limited shade; instead of harsh, snow-covered mountaintops, there were grassy, rolling hills. And in the place of sprawling, golden citadels, there were villages with small, thatched houses and dirt-packed roads. The occupants of Vanaheim were only distinguishable from their Asgardian brethren by the former’s innateness for fertility. Nothing seemed to be barren for long in Vanaheim, neither fields, nor wombs. But over time, an abundance of life had resulted in towns that teemed with inhabitants--and opinions. The land was volatile and corrupt, with bloody skirmishes being commonplace.

Loki despised it. He was not at all interested in the small-town happenings of tribal warlords fighting over scraps of land. He even valued Midgard more--things were much more entertaining there.

He and his companion stood on a grassy knoll that gently sloped downwards into other hillocks until it finally flattened into fields of meticulously kept harvest. It was a scene Loki might have found beautiful... _if_ he cared. He could see slim smokestacks rising lazily into the air in the distance, revealing that there were villages nearby. Would they go to one? The girl’s scrappy appearance might allow her to fit in at a glance, but he, in all his splendid regalness, would certainly not. He had been hoping to conserve what little magic he had for the task ahead. But, he quickly realized, if any of the Vanir found his presence undesirable, the girl could simply kill them with a flick of her hand.

The girl. The god-born and the god-killer. The Enchantress’ story was quite a tale, but it certainly explained the girl’s power. What it didn’t explain was why the girl was so frightened of Amora. Loki had encountered the self-proclaimed “Enchantress” years before, and even though he had been somewhat tender-of-foot due to his youth, he hadn’t been impressed. Amora had discovered her magical aptitude much later than he, and it showed--but you couldn’t tell _her_ that. Despite her annoying brashness, young Loki had been eager for a partner who understood his interests; thus, he had proposed that they study magic together in secret. Soon Loki would realize that he didn’t _hate_ her company, but as a magical partner, he found her to be _unsatisfactory_. She was flashy and hot-tempered, quick to lash out, unrefined. This was particularly evidenced by the time she had, against Loki’s advice, hexed Thor and a portion of Odin’s army to attack Nornheim on her command. Her defeat (which Loki had secretly helped with) had resulted in her exile from Asgard. Young Amora hadn’t been as interested in the deep, often tedious, magical study that excited Loki’s mind and thrummed his blood… or at least she hadn’t been at the time. Either things had changed, or the Enchantress had gotten lucky. It had to be the latter, Loki surmised. Surely the Enchantress didn’t have the patience or intelligence to recognize that the girl was something interesting, let alone discover how to control her. And to learn about her existence in the first place! Something that Loki, in all his years of combing the realms for their secrets, had somehow missed.

But it didn’t matter; he was with the girl now. Loki watched her from the corner of his eye. She was standing still by his side and surveying the land before them with an uninterested expression in her eyes, just like he had been. Her posture had returned to its casual, emotionless state; if her clothes had been different, she could’ve been any bored Misgardian teen. Such a far cry from the trembling, subservient girl he had witnessed back when they had been in Amora’s presence just a few moments ago. The grimace that he had been trying to hold back for the past two days appeared on his face. He did _not_ like weakness, particularly the kind that was distributed by the hand of a master who was so weak herself.

“Since we’re going to be spending _so much time together_ …”--his voice was sing-song, sarcastic--“do you have a name?”

His companion looked up at him. He was getting used to ignoring the effect that her eerie gaze had on him, even though it was like he was staring into a bottomless pit. A pit filled with shadowy, earthy light instead of blackness, but an abyss nonetheless, and the worse kind--one with a feeling of sentience hidden within its depths. The mask she wore only seemed to emphasize her eyes, which could be the reason why she wore it. Or, more likely, Amora had ordered the girl to don the veil to cover up whatever beauty the god-born no doubt had--something Amora, despite her facade of cool unconcern, would be insanely jealous of. _Yes, Enchantress_ , Loki thought. _Though you may not realize it, you wear your own mask, one that I can see right through._

Unsurprisingly, the girl answered his question with silence. Loki’s patience disappeared once more, and his words dripped with disdain.

“Not the talkative type? Does Amora hold your tongue as easily as she holds your will?”

Golden eyes flicked away, bored again. Loki sighed.

“Fine. Where is the vault?” he asked through gritted teeth.

She held out her hand to him, and he blinked down at it a few times before he realized that she was wanting him to take it. Curious, he grasped it, his hand all but swallowing hers. He had a brief moment where he noted that her hand felt like any other person’s, warm and slender, but then he was vanishing, his body following hers into a transportation spell.

Loki had barely taken a breath before the farmland was gone. In its place was a wooded area whose trees were nothing like the majestic giants that occupied Asgard’s vast terrain. Though still quite tall, they were thinner of trunk and sparser of leaves--a pathetic excuse for a forest, Loki thought as he ducked his head out of the glaring sunlight and into the nearest tree’s thin shadow. The girl started forward, and the rays of light falling through the leaves overhead cast speckled, green-tinged shadows on her. Surprisingly, Loki found his annoyance dissipating as if the transportation spell had forgotten to bring the feeling along with him. He began to wonder what it would be like to see her unleash her power among the trees, destroying everything in her path as the sunlight filtered down upon her dancing form, highlighting her lovely, _deadly_ assault. Once more, the abundance of green around him caught his eye, and the images in his mind’s eye morphed, changing from the Enchantress to the girl and back again.

 _Hmm_ , he thought. _Such power… How easily it can be controlled._

He hurried his steps until he was at the girl’s side, then he swung in front of her and planted his feet. She came to a halt before him, and his abruptness earned him a look. And, he was pleased to see, an actual emotion this time: a slight eyebrow raise.

He lowered hooded eyes at her. “I really hate to see you like this,” he began and his voice took on a slow, compelling tone, “Someone so powerful, so lovely, unable to do… exactly what she wants.” Almost imperceptibly, he moved forward, closing the distance between them and forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him. Her fabric-covered nose was inches from his chest, but she stood her ground, something Loki had counted on. He bent down slowly towards her, and his eyes never left hers.

“I could help you,” he said softly. “Free you… in ways you don’t even know.”

For a moment, she did nothing but look at him, and Loki wondered if she would finally answer him. Then, a beat later, she did. But not with words.

With an eyeroll. A _big_ one.

Loki almost smiled to himself. _Hmm_ , he thought wryly. _That’s gone better in the past._ He decided to switch tactics.

“So,” he began again, his tone conversational this time, “your Master. She’s quite... _something_ , isn’t she?” He smoothly stepped back, giving the pair a more comfortable distance. “You know, I’ve had dealings with her in the past. I know her weaknesses, and they are many. I could help free you.”

The girl blinked once, slowly, like a cat, and said nothing. The bored expression was back in her eyes, and this time, Loki thought he could tell that the look was _purposeful_. _Hmph!_ he huffed to himself. A sullen teenager, indeed. He stared over her head and swung his arms absentmindedly as he thought.

“Alright, how about a deal? I will free you, and in return, you do something for me.”

Silence. Normally, Loki enjoyed silence. This time, however…

“How about I free you if you just tell me one thing?”

No answer. He was growing irritated. “Fine, one word. Just the one.”

She didn’t move. He didn’t even get a blink this time.

“Really? Nothing?”

He dropped his caring facade and snorted in exasperation. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Okay, so I can’t charm you and I can’t appeal to your current state. What can I do for you?” he asked, and now his voice had a touch of earnestness to it. “Talk to me. We could help each other.”

Like a ghost, she moved forward, silent and detached, but her dress brushed his knuckles as she stepped past him. A few paces ahead, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, and then she motioned, waving a curled index finger at him.

“What?” he implored her. “What can I do?”

She motioned again. This time, Loki understood.

“What--follow you? Where? Towards the vaul--oh, _wonderful_ ,” he replied sarcastically and threw up his hands.

They walked in unison, him behind her, and their footsteps barely made a sound. Once more, his eyes rested curiously on her back, the bobbing bits of her hair. Slinking through his agitation was a feeling of amusement. Even though she had been largely unresponsive during their last exchange, Loki felt like he had finally sensed a hint of… playful wryness about her--something that _he_ had in spades. She had to talk to him eventually. _Patience_ , Loki reminded himself. He would have his answers soon enough. He _always_ got his answers.

Suddenly, Loki felt a peculiar sensation ripple through him, like he had just passed under a waterfall and felt the hundreds of tiny stabs of water hitting his head and back. Instantly wary, his footsteps slowed. It had been magic, a magical barrier or warning system. Loki looked ahead. Through the gaps in the foliage, he could just make out the edge of a small, vine-covered building occupying a clearing several feet ahead. Unlike him, the girl’s steps hadn’t hesitated; she had already passed the smattering of trees that formed the edge of the clearing and was walking right up to the structure. Seeing no other choice, Loki mirrored her steps.

The trees parted and the clearing, as well as the rest of the structure, came into view. It was a two-story stone cottage with a straw-covered roof, and it had certainly seen better days. Dotted here and there across the roof were places where the straw was dark with rot. A barely visible spire of white smoke drifted out of a half-collapsed chimney. Four grimey glass windows faced him, while the left side of the house was almost completely covered in vines that reached upwards to clutch at the mottled stone like the fingers of a skeleton. Behind the house, he could just barely make out the edge of a garden that was overflowing with unusual-looking plants. Beneath his feet were large flat stones that made for a slightly uneven walkway up to a wooden door that was dull with age. It all looked perfectly unassuming, if somewhat neglected. The girl was standing by the door, looking back at him expectantly, and he was halfway towards her when he heard a caw. A pair of crows had landed on the roof, and Loki glared up at them, startled. Then two more landed, then another two. They hopped around in the straw, cawing periodically, but they seemed to take no notice of him. _Wonderful_. Loki thought. _A murder of crows. Just the omen I need._

“So this is it?” Loki asked as he reached his silent companion. In reply, her hands pressed against the door and opened it with a single push. She slipped inside. Loki followed.

They had stepped into one large room. Loki was not surprised to find that it was dark inside, the only light a white sheen from the filmy windows. The air was thick with incense and pungent, earthy smells. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the low ceiling, and wooden shelves lined the walls, groaning under the weight of hundreds of jars of all sizes that were filled with all the typical ingredients for ritualistic spell-work: eyeballs suspended in a clear liquid, silvery powder that could be ground unicorn horn or ground pixie, bat wings all in a bunch, lizard tails of various colors, frog legs tied in pairs, a large barrel of human toes… There was a soft crackling sound coming from the back of the room, and Loki could smell coals and dying embers. As they moved further into the room, Loki’s eyes fell on the back of a person tending the sputtering fire. Judging by the person’s shape and the small, heavily wrinkled hands he spied, it was an old woman, bent almost double with a shock of long white hair that fell over a threadbare black smock. Loki was unsurprised. Everything here looked like he expected it to: a typical witch’s cottage with the typical old hag currently in residence. And _that_ was what raised the hair on the back of his neck.

The floorboards creaked as he approached the back wall and the woman turned. From within a mass of wrinkled skin, two large white orbs gazed up at him without seeing. She was blind. 

Of _course_ she was. 

With her face pointed in their direction, she parted thin lips and spoke, her voice like her dress, old and airy. Loki hmph’d to himself. He had expected a cackle.

“Come closer, Traveller, so that I may see you.”

Loki moved forward, his body tense, ready to act if necessary. The crone had one wizened hand reaching towards him, and when he came near, she grasped his forearm in a surprisingly tight grip. Her other hand found its way to his leather bracer, fingertips dipping in and out of the ridges that made up Odin’s seal. She traced the seal three times, slowly, as if she was savoring the texture. As she did so, her pale eyes washed over him, and he had the eerie feeling that she actually could see him. Of course she could.

“Welcome, son of Odin,” she said as she let go of his bracer. “If it is your will, you may proceed to the vault.”

Loki’s eyebrows rose. Clearly, news travels slowly in Vanaheim. She pointed over her left shoulder at another closed door that was in the back wall. Loki brushed past the woman and faced the door. There was something magical behind the door for sure; he could feel its invisible presence seeping through the cracks and wafting over him like heat. His mouth flattened into a thin line, and he silently cursed Odin’s name for the thousandth time. He wouldn’t be as tense as he was if he had even a small part of his magic back. Loki forced a swallow and ran his hands down the front of his armour absentmindedly as if he was trying to smooth wrinkles that had formed there. _Stop this_ , he chastened himself firmly. He was far more intelligent than Odin ever hoped to be. The All-father may still have control over Loki’s magic, but he did _not_ have control over Loki’s mind. Loki raised his chin, forcing his nervousness to the side. He did not know what awaited him on the other side of the door, but he was ready for it. There was a rustle at his back and he turned his head: the girl. Somehow, he had almost forgotten about her. She had moved to stand behind him with an air of unconcern as if she was ready to follow him anywhere, even to the grave. Loki glanced at the old woman. If the witch noticed or cared about his silent companion, she did not show it. Loki’s gaze travelled once more around the room, but he could not avoid the two pairs of eyes that were on him. Even though both were emotionless pools, they still gave him the feeling of piercing contemplation, as if they saw way more of him than he ever wanted anyone to see. Loki sighed in irritation and grasped the door handle. He pulled the door open with a tug and stepped through without hesitation, the girl on his heels.

After the door closed behind them with a soft click, it disappeared, but Loki didn’t notice. His eyes were glued to what lay before them.

 _Well_ , he thought. They certainly weren’t in the witch’s backyard.

Yes, they were outside, but it was nighttime now, and they were standing at the beginning of a different clearing, one whose far edge he could not see. The sky overhead was a deep purplish black, and the silvery moon that hung above them was overly large and surrounded by twinkling stars. As Loki watched, a shooting star flew past the surface of the moon and another followed. _How lovely_ , he sneered to himself. The clearing was surrounded by shadowy trees, and they weren’t the anorexic weedlings found in Vanaheim but much bigger specimens. Were they back in Asgard? Loki wondered idly. Though it was nighttime, something other than the moon was illuminating the clearing enough for him to see what lay immediately before him: a long row of hedges. They were around twenty feet in height and meticulously trimmed. The leaves were so dense it was impossible to see through to the other side. The hedges stretched for hundreds of feet in either direction, a solid-looking wall of fine foliage, until he noticed a break in the hedges large enough for someone to slip through. The opening was an entryway, and he could see straight through it to… more hedges.

Loki’s voice shot through the silence.

"A hedge maze?! _Really_ , Odin?" His voice was high with incredulity. He turned to the girl and began to babble. "Inside there'll be a test of strength for sure, some monster, or maybe the hedges themselves will attack us. And then we'll likely run into a sphinx or something equally annoying, spouting riddles at us as it blocked our path. I mean, I like riddles--obviously--but come on Odin, this is amateurish..." He trailed off, muttering and shaking his head. The girl was looking at him, and Loki wouldn't be surprised if she was wondering about his sanity. He blew air out of his nose in a resigned huff and peered at the gap in the leaves. "Well... let's go." They stepped into the maze.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” he cried to the air when they had run into their first dead end. He turned around and stalked back the way they had come.

“This is for children,” he grumbled to himself, his footsteps stomping angrily down the grassy path.

The hedges rose up around them like silent statues, and Loki could almost feel them looking down at him, mocking him with their eyeless stares. He was sick of being stared at!

He stopped abruptly in the middle of a long pathway and turned to the girl. “Do you know the way?” he asked sharply. He tensed again. If she answered him once more with nothing but _silence_ \--

A shake of her head, side to side.

Loki made a loud, wordless noise (“Aaarrruggghh!” or at least, that was it sounded like) as he turned back around and started walking again.

Ten minutes had passed before he was calm enough to remember his wits. He slowed down and was just about to turn to the girl with another question when he heard a noise coming from behind the corner up ahead: an ominous plodding of large footsteps on grass. Loki could tell from the sounds of the steps that whatever was coming towards them was doing it on all fours--all _massive_ fours. He strengthened up taller and tried to smooth down the front of his armor again, a nervous tick.

“Well, let’s get this over, then,” he said aloud to himself.

Head still raised, he started forward. The plodding grew louder, and Loki’s blood trilled in edgy anticipation with each giant step.

He met the shadow first. The great dark thing rounded the corner before its body, and it’s shape was enough to compel Midgardians to immediately run the opposite way in fright. But Loki was no Midgardian, and he stopped boldly in the middle of the path to wait for the creature to appear. He did not have to wait long.

First came two monstrous paws. They were cat-like in nature and a golden honey in color, with black claws that were each the length of Loki’s arm. Then the head came into view--or rather, the heads. The middle head was of a fierce-looking male lion with a mane the color of umber; it was snarling as it approached, no doubt having noticed the pair’s scent way before it turned the corner. The head on the right was of a wild-eyed looking goat. It had two horns on its head that were more reminiscent of an antelope’s: ridged and curving upwards and around until they whittled into two deadly points that stuck straight up. It was baring filthy teeth in a crazy-looking growl as ropes of saliva dripped from its mouth. The head on the left had devilish red slitted eyes and was covered in scales: an undulating green serpent whose forked tongue was as long as Loki was tall. A yellow-colored liquid dribbled from its mouth and hissed when it hit the ground. The rest of the body was that of a lion’s, with sleek fur that rippled over powerful muscles as the creature moved.

Loki almost sighed as he recognized the beast. A chimera. Only Odin’s fascination with mortal mythologies would have inspired the All-father to use this ungainly monstrosity as a guard for one of his vaults. Despite the nightmarish sight he faced, Loki found himself musing. If only Thor had known; no doubt he would have thoroughly enjoyed taking this creature on by himself. To enter the labyrinth and slay the fearsome beast, another strike-through on his list of monstrous conquests. The tremors of fear Loki had felt were waning, and he smirked at the creature as it came to a stop in front of him.

"I take it you don't have a riddle for me," he sneered.

The three heads vocalized at once, an unholy sounding roar.

"How disappointing." His muscles tensed, ready to throw himself to the side when the beast attacked. The chimera's claws were digging into the ground. It was ready. Loki was about to make a grab for one of his daggers when the girl stepped forward.

She made no show of attacking the creature, but her movement alone was enough to provoke it into action. It sprang for her in a surprisingly graceful arc, the claws on its paws curving wickedly towards her, ready to rip her apart. Loki dashed out of the way and turned to watch from behind a corner. It was like time had slowed. The girl had sunk into a crouch as the shadow grew large over her. She looked so small, like a delicate bird that the beast could crush between its toes. But she was no small thing and inches before the creature’s claws were upon her, she unleashed her power.

Fire and screams. The vile smell of burning fur. The chimera was aflame and flailing in the air above the girl’s head. She had one arm flung above her and one arm thrown out behind her, and her unmoving form was beauty and power and drama, and Loki’s eyes grew wide with the effort of taking it all in, of _memorizing_ it. The chimera’s body was disappearing, crumbling into nothing but embers and ash, and the three heads were screaming horribly, eyes rolling in terror. It was a gruesome sight. 

And Loki _loved_ it. 

The power... so refined. So full of grace and cool unconcern. Thor’s way would have been messier, a spectacle only because of its smugness, its excessiveness. Thor would have been grinning wildly as he smashed the creature to bits with Mjolnir, and he would have laughed as blood and severed limbs and _heads_ flew past him. The girl did not puncture the creature’s gurgling cries with her laughter or mock its death throes. She was simply a lethal machine, unfeeling, uncaring, and Loki was enthralled by it.

He would be called a madman for finding beauty in this murderous assault, but he did not care.

A moment more. The creature was gone.

" _Hmph_ ," Loki muttered, trying not to show how impressed he was. His mood was lifting. He pointed to the dense foliage in front of them and asked her the question he was going to ask her right before the chimera appeared. "Care to clear a path?"

The girl did more than just clear a path. She set the entire maze on fire. The blaze was like a living thing: sparking, roaring, devouring, dying. Gone. And that was that.

After several minutes, the smoke cleared and Loki moved forward into the wreckage. The girl’s magic had protected both of them from any ill effects such as smoke inhalation or stinging eyes, but it did not keep the ashes from swirling around his feet and catching on his cape as he walked. Burnt earth was all that he could see for miles in either direction, and he could not help but smile to himself. What a lovely present this will be for his _dear_ father.

Then a building that had not been destroyed by the girl’s power seemed to materialize in his line of sight like a mirage. It was over fifty yards away, standing in what would’ve been the very middle of the maze. Loki set his jaw and breathed deeply, in and out. This must be where they needed to go.

The building itself was not very large. Loki scrutinized it as they approached. Reminiscent of a single family’s mausoleum, it was a square, white stone structure with a small dome and a portico that rested on four pillars. Behind the pillars was a single closed door that had been painted a smokey black. No name had been etched into the facade, and there were no windows that Loki could see. Just like the witch’s cottage, it was all perfectly ordinary-looking, _except_ for the wash of magical power that billowed off of the building in invisible waves. Loki tried not to flinch at it as he walked up the three stone steps that led to the door.

What could be inside? Loki’s thoughts raced from one end of his mind to the other. His magical power still lay within him like the ground that now surrounded them: smouldering, dying, spent. He felt naked without it. Missing. A sense of wrongness, of _without_. These were very familiar feelings (though he had never experienced them in this particular way before), and it took him a few moments and lots of deep breathing to keep the madness, the numbness, at bay. And once the coldness within him had been packed together and buried as far as it could go, he stole a glance at his silent shadow (and immediately regretted it for her firelit gaze seemed more potent than usual) and then opened the door.

He stepped into a large white room. At his back, the door closed and locked.

He did not notice that the girl was not behind him….

“Loki, there you are!”

Loki looked up from the book he had been reading. Frigga was rushing towards him, the dark blue jewels around her neck rattling and the train of her pale blue dress making a light swishing sound as she made her way across the library floor.

As Frigga reached him, Loki closed the book with a snap. “Mother, if you’ve been looking for me, you know that you’re most likely to find me in the library.”

“I know, darling,” she said and bent down to place a light kiss on his left eyebrow. “It’s the first place I thought of.” She eyed the large stack of books that sat on the table beside him then smiled encouragingly. “Do you not want to go to your birthday party? It’s not everyday that a son of Odin turns the ripe old age of _fourteen_.”

A crease appeared between Loki’s eyebrows. How could he have forgotten about his birthday party? Just how long had he been in the library? Frigga seemed to understand his bemused expression. She ruffled his hair with a warm hand.

“My silly dear. The worlds in books are far numerous than the nine realms, and it is wise to learn all about them. What isn’t wise is to dwell solely in these worlds and forget to live.” She tugged the rather large book out of his hands and placed it on top of the others. “Come along now. Before Thor eats all the cake.”

She winked at him and the light from the sun streaming through the window behind her set her blonde her ablaze. Loki smiled. His mother always seemed to radiate warmth, the kind, Loki thought, that could rival the sun itself.

 _She_ was his sun. The center of his universe. Well, her _and_ Thor, _and_ Father. They were all his whole life, and as he walked by his mother’s side, he wondered for the thousandth time how lucky he was, to have such a family. Though he was only a boy of fourteen years, he was especially observant and reflective, and he knew how many things worked, including his own heart. It seemed to grow wider every day. Negative feelings would flit across his mind, born naturally, spurred by one thing or another--a spell gone wrong despite all his best efforts or some silly tiff with his brother--but he did not dwell on them, and as time went on, he found them to be fewer and fewer as his relationships strengthened and his sense of self grew and grew. He couldn’t help feeling any other way. Because he _belonged_.

Loki halted in the middle of the hallway.

Wait. Something was… wrong.

Frigga had stopped as well. “What is the matter, dear one?”

Loki’s nose was flaring as if he had caught the whiff of an unusual scent and was trying to locate its source. He was feeling odd--off--and did not know why. It was confusing. Normally, he was so good at recognizing and understanding his feelings.

Ah, well. It was no matter. He had presents to open. “Oh, nothing, Mother,” he said, and his eyebrows ceased their creasing. He waved a hand flippantly. “It’s nothing," he repeated. "Let’s go.”

As they walked closer to the Great Hall, a buzz of interest and excitement met their ears, and Loki’s own excitement grew warm within him. When he and his mother stepped into the large room, a cheer rose up from the sea of gathered guests, but Loki’s attention shot to the one sound that had risen above all else: a young, excited voice that was wonderfully familiar. _Thor_.

“Surprise!” Thor yelled, even though the party had been planned for months. He was standing in the front of the crowd next to the All-father, and the smile on the boy’s face was wide, _so_ wide, and mirrored in his blue eyes. Loki couldn’t help it; he grinned back at his younger brother. Oh Thor. His naive little brother. Brash, silly, sometimes foolish. His complete opposite. The sun to Loki’s moon. The brawn to his brains. One day, Thor was likely to be a mighty warrior, while he, Loki, would be king. They were so different. But Loki loved him. He couldn’t help it. He loved him.

Loki took a deep breath. “Thank you.” Over the din he had to yell it, but the hall soon noticed he was speaking and quieted enough to hear his words. “Thank you all for adding to the joyful spirit of my birthday party with your presence… and with your many gifts,” he said with a charming smile as he gave the large pile of gifts on the back wall an exaggerated look. The room rang with laughter, and Loki chuckled good-naturedly before sweeping his hand towards the tables. “Please, enjoy yourselves.”

As was befitting the birthday celebration of the crown prince of Asgard, the Great Hall was absolutely _splendid_. Rich green banners hung from a point in the gilded ceiling and cascaded to the floor down the side of every column that faced the hall. Alabaster vases stood on pillars in every corner, displaying the pale green flowers with the star-shaped petals that Loki’s mother had bred in honor of him. And the food. Loki felt like he might grow full from the sight of the food alone. In front of the head table where he and his family would sit, there were five long tables that ran the whole length of the room; all were overwrought with culinary delights. There were trays piled high with the region’s exotic meats: moose, reindeer, duck, fowl, mutton, and venison--all served with rich sauces of crushed fruits such as the piney-tasting juniper berry or sour-sweet lingonberry, compliments to the meats’ strong flavors. Hearty vegetables such as potatoes, cabbages, carrots, and leeks were layered in bowls or curried in soups or stews. Prawns, crabs and mussels lay steaming in shallow dishes that were so large, it had likely taken two people to carry each dish in. Dotted here and there were plates of poached cod fish, pickled herring, and, of course, Loki’s favorite: _gravlaks_ , salmon that had been cured for twenty-four hours in a mix of sugar and salt and herbs. At the center of each table, laid out on a bed of leafy greens and with an apple in its mouth, was the gleaming, tawny-colored body of a pig that had been roasted over a charcoal pit for several hours. It’s skin would be crisp and its meat tender with just the hint of smoky flavor. On and on it stretched: baskets of bread, wooden mugs filled with honey wine, cheeses, fruits, cakes, pastries, cloudberries in whipped cream… It was a feast that minstrels could sing about, and everyone in the hall fell upon it with gusto.

The revelry went on for hours. It was so exuberant, Loki was sure that all the realms could hear them celebrating. At the head table, he gazed around himself in a contented stupor. Thor was engaged in a meringue-eating contest with Volstagg, and Loki and several of the adults who were watching them chuckled at their youthful enthusiasm. Volstagg looked like he was winning, and he seemed unconcerned that half of his face and even parts of his reddish hair were covered with sticky white cream. Loki’s eyes scanned the crowd for his other friends. He caught sight of Fandral placing a gentle kiss on the hand of pretty Vanir girl, and when Fandral noticed him watching, the blonde-headed boy shot him a quick wink. In return, Loki cast him a knowing smirk. A few seats away, Loki noticed Hogun, whose solemn face did not convince him--Loki _knew_ his friend was enjoying the heroic tales that the members of Odin’s guard were recounting in loud, dramatic (and likely drunk) voices. The dark-eyed boy was no doubt enthralled, but as was his way, he did not show it.

In the middle of the crowd, there was a flash of emerald green: Sif, sitting next to her parents and a lovely sight indeed with her golden hair wrought with ribbons. As Loki gazed at her, he wondered how her parents had gotten her to wear such a lovely green dress. Had she donned the green because she knew it was his favorite color? She caught sight of him looking at her and she turned away with a quick, slightly embarrassed smile. Loki’s eyes darted away as well, and his stomach gave a funny twinge. He set down the mug of mead he had been nursing. _Better go easy on that_ , he told himself. He glanced down the head table and caught sight of his mother. Frigga was smiling as she chatted with the elven visitors from Álfheimr, her hand resting on the All-father’s knee. Loki was happy to note that Odin himself was looking rather content, a rare thing to see from someone whose emotions were usually so well contained. As Loki watched, the All-father rose from his seat and the hall immediately quieted.

“My friends,” Odin said and his arms spread open. The All-father always seemed to radiate a quietly powerful presence, like one a lion would project. “I would like to present my son, Loki Odinson and Crown Prince of the Realm Eternal, with a gift.” His arms dropped to his sides as he glanced at Loki, and there was a small smile on his bearded lips. Loki felt warmth rush into him again, and he was as full of it as he was of food. 

“I’m sure,” Odin continued, “that many of you are aware of my love for Midgardian myths.” Here Odin seemed to smile at his own self in amusement, and the guests chuckled lightly, acknowledging and appreciating the All-father’s fascination with the quaint human realm. “In my study, I ran across a tale that made my eyes dance with wonder and my heart grow to thrice its size. For as I read this story, my mind kept returning to my son, with his calm demeanor and hair as black as a crow’s wing. And I felt compelled to compose a song about it, which I will perform for you now.”

Loki’s mouth fell open as Odin began to sing.

" _Oh, gather ‘round and listen to my tale_  
_Across the sea of years_  
_The sky was white, the Earth was pale_  
_And hearts were full of fear_  
_They clung together as the snow fell ‘round_  
_And the waters turned to ice_  
_If a way of warmth could not be found_  
_All would surely die_

 _It was Wise Owl who knew just what to do_  
_His voice rang far and wide_  
_Send a message to the Creator who_  
_Lived in the Heaven past the sky_  
_But Wise Owl himself could not go_  
_For in the daylight he was blind_  
_Gentle Mouse too small, Steady Turtle too slow_  
_They could not make the climb_

 _In the end they knew just whom to send_  
_The most beautiful of the birds_  
_Rainbow Crow had shimmering wings to lend_  
_And the loveliest voice e’er heard_  
_The air was cold, the journey long_  
_Past trees and clouds and stars_  
_But Rainbow Crow was brave, he carried on_  
_To the mystery afar_

 _And once he reached the Holy Place_  
_He sang out in lilting strains_  
_And with delight on the Creator’s face_  
_Bestowed a gift for his wondrous refrain_  
_Rainbow Crow thanked the Creator and set forth_  
_With a stick of Fire in his mouth_  
_He had to get it down to the Earth_  
_Before the Fire burnt out_

 _The stick was heavy and the Fire was hot_  
_And Rainbow Crow flew as fast as he could_  
_But as he looked o’er himself he grew distraught_  
_For his rainbow feathers had turned black from the soot_  
_His beautiful singing voice was also gone_  
_Strangled by the smoke_  
_And as the animals rejoiced loud and long_  
_Rainbow Crow grieved at the Creator’s cruel joke_

 _Then a breath of air upon his face_  
_And the Creator’s voice was bliss_  
_“Dear Rainbow Crow, let your tears abate_  
_For I have given you this:_  
_I have made your flesh taste of smoke_  
_So you are no good to eat_  
_When Man comes here to hunt and smote_  
_You alone will be free_

 _Your voice is hoarse, no longer sweet_  
_So you will not be caged_  
_And in your feathers hidden deep_  
_A rainbow there’s a trace_  
_All creatures will know what you have done_  
_And all will honor your sacrifice_  
_And though you are clothed in a robe of dark_  
_To the world you have brought light”_

Everyone in the hall had been listening in a state of hushed enrapturement, but as the last notes rang out, the crowd burst into a booming applause. After a moment, Loki joined in, barely aware of whether his hands made contact with each other or not. He was stunned. He had never heard his father sing like that before. The mood in the room was ebullient, bolstered from the food, fellowship, and all that they had seen and heard. But the All-father was not done. Like a conductor, Odin raised his hands again and the hall reluctantly fell silent.

"It is our nature, as Asgardians, to be _loud_.” Here, the crowd rose up again, whooping and hollering their agreement, and many a cup was banged upon a table for emphasis. “We are proud of our history, proud of all that we have accomplished. We want it to be known, and there is no fault in that.” Odin smiled lightly and his eyes seemed to seek out every soul in the room. “My son Loki speaks softly.”

On its own accord, the room quieted. A small crease appeared again between Loki’s eyebrows as Odin went on. “Asgardians are warriors. The battlefield calls to us, and while we inhabit it, our blood sings of glory and honor and might.” Odin gestured to Loki. “He is not a fighter, not naturally. He is too small, too slight. His might is in the war room, not on the battlefield. Is that what the bards will sing about when he is king? Will that make for an exciting tale, passed down through the ages, like those of our ancestors?”

A heavy silence seemed to descend into the room; the air was palpable with it. All eyes were on the front of the hall, and Loki’s face felt flushed with heat. He folded and loosened trembling hands under the table. Why was Father saying these embarrassing things--these damning things--in front of everyone? Desperately, Loki’s head swiveled to stare at the rest of his family. Thor’s eyes were darting between him and their father and his mouth was open in confusion, but Frigga… Frigga was impassive. Loki felt like something was breaking apart within him. _Did she not care?_ Loki thought. _Mother_ , please _intervene_ , Loki’s eyes implored her, but Odin had started speaking again. Now the All-father’s voice was taut with the gripping intensity that was his trademark. “He studies sorcery-- _seiðr_ \--though he is not a woman. His head is dark, while Asgardian heads are fair. Who is this Dark Prince of Asgard?” Unexpectedly, he turned to Loki and his gaze was piercing. “Who are you?” he demanded. “ _Who_?”

Loki’s heart was hammering loudly in his ears, and it took him a moment before he responded. His voice broke with uncertainty, with _hurt_. “I-I am your son.”

Slowly, the pointed stare disappeared and Odin nodded. “Yes,” he said gently. “Yes you are. And I admit, I did not always feel as such.” He stretched out his hand, and from somewhere in the dark recesses of the vaulted ceiling, there came a caw. A dark shape was hurtling down from the rafters, and when it alighted on the All-father’s forearm, there were small gasps of surprise. It was a living shadow. A _crow_.

“Crows are misunderstood creatures,” Odin began again. His bright eyes studied the bird on his arm. “We think of them as tricksters, vengeful spirits, omens of death.” Thoughtfully, the All-father ran a finger down the front of the bird’s chest. “It is their darkness that frightens us. Their difference. They don’t regale our ears with sweet melodies or delight our eyes with beautiful feathers. But as you heard in the words of the song, they can bring light to the world… If we give them the chance.”

Silence. All were held captive under the All-father’s gaze and the weight of his words. Odin turned towards his family, and the crow shifted slightly on his arm, wings half-spread. Riddled with tension, Loki’s eyes burned holes into the floor, and though Odin’s stare did not find him, his voice did:

“Rise, my son.”

It was as if Loki had forgotten how to move. He felt hollow and sick at the same time, but also confused. His father’s words had been like daggers to his heart, but there was something else there, too. Something hidden, like a riddle. What was the All-father telling him, telling all of them? On shaking legs, Loki rose to his feet and finally met his father’s gaze. And what he found in his father's eyes was something that he had never seen before, and Loki was forever changed.

“My son," Odin's voice rang, "you have proven that we must not be fearful of _difference_. Your ways may not be our ways, but there are many roads to peace. When the time comes, it will be your gentle voice and your wise words that will unite the realms; your magic that will ignite the worlds with the fires of _justness_. All will be free and happy.”

The people were stirring. Odin’s voice resounded like thunder. 

“And so my son, today on this happy celebration of your birth, I bestow upon you a new name: he who will bring light to the world, _The Crow Prince_.”

And the hall erupted into a furor of ovation and Loki’s heart was pierced again, but this time, it was like he had been pierced with arrows of _light_. Odin stretched out his crow-bearing arm towards the boy, and Loki felt small talons grip his skin as the crow settled on the back of his hand with a hoarse caw. The crowd was on their feet, screaming and clapping; Thor and Frigga were among them, beaming at him with pride and wonder in their eyes. He saw his friends, too: Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral--all cheering and calling out his name, and Sif’s eyes were alight as they focused on him, bashful no longer. Odin clapped his hands together and Loki felt his father’s magic rip through the air. A shaft of light appeared, shooting down from the ceiling. It fell over Loki, warming him, clothing him, illuminating him and the bird so that all could see the shimmering blues and greens and violets hidden in the crow’s plumage and in Loki’s hair--the secret rainbow, noticeable only if one looked hard enough. And Loki was shuddering with emotion, for he had never felt so accepted, so loved.

It was everything that he had ever wanted.

And it was _wrong_.

The foreign feeling shot through him with the abruptness of shattering glass, and he felt pierced for a third time. The din from the crowd seemed to quiet as his gaze turned questioningly inward, and though he could still see the cheering, clapping throng before him, he could not shake the feeling that something was indeed wrong.

But he wanted it to be right. It had to be. He was _desperate_ for it. And so he pushed the feeling of wrongness firmly to the side, and suddenly the adulation was rushing back to him and so was his happiness.

When Loki awoke the next morning, he sat up quickly in his bed. He was worried. Surely, it hadn’t all been a dream. But then a breeze drifted through his open window and with it came a caw. The crow had flown in and alighted atop his dresser. With its head tilted, it eyed him with a bright black eye, first the one, then the other. Loki sighed gratefully and swung his legs over his bed. Stacks of half-opened presents littered the room. The party had gone on so late that Loki had fallen asleep in his chair, but not before opening a few of his gifts at the enthusiastic request of the guests. His mother had given him a beautiful scrying glass and pendant, as well as numerous books that Loki was sure would become his new favorites. Thor's present had been a set of fine daggers, and Loki wondered if they were a sign that he was being missed in the training room. His father had bequeathed him a large leather bound tome; Galdrs, Book of Runesongs was scrawled across the cover in faded gold lettering. It was the copy that the All-father himself had owned as a boy, and its pages were worn with tears, smudges, and even his father's tiny scribbled notes. Now that Loki was up, he could open more of his presents--Sif's was in there somewhere--but instead he turned away. He had the sudden strong urge to _wander_.

He padded down the hall, walking by several people on his way. They bowed to him as he passed, and he nodded politely to them in return. Many of the guests had stayed overnight, and the palace was fuller than usual. He was still abuzz with happiness from yesterday's events, but also rather _drained_. He decided to visit some of the more quiet parts of the palace to reflect and recover some of his lost energy.

He was walking down a deserted corridor in the west wing of the palace when he noticed it: a door, one he couldn't remember passing before. It stood there at the very end of the hall, and it was a dull black in color and unadorned. Odd. None of the doors in the palace were painted black; all were a light gold, and most had silvery scrollwork painted around the sides to match the silvery-gold decor. Why was this door different? Where could it lead? Loki loved mysteries, and his curiosity was instantly piqued. He strode up to the door and grasped the handle. It opened. Hardly any force had been needed.

The door swung wide, and Loki was greeted with... more hallway. Beyond that was a large lounging room with windows that reached from floor to ceiling. It was quiet; no one was there. His footsteps echoed as he walked slowly around the room, his eyes roaming over every inch. The room looked just like every other sitting room in the palace: tall gold columns, cushioned lounge chairs, small tables to set refreshments upon. It was all perfectly familiar. Why, one just like this was favored by his mother, as if was a few steps outside of her personal rooms. Here before him was nothing out of the ordinary.

Or was there?

He wandered to the far end of the hall and peaked through the open door. More hallway, also deserted. Ever since he and Thor could walk, they had been exploring the palace, uncovering its secrets as they played hide and seek or make-believe or tried to play hooky from their studies or princely duties. But Loki couldn’t remember ever exploring this area of the palace. Yes, the palace was massive, but shouldn’t a son of Odin know it like the back of his hand? There was the Great Hall; the Throne Room; the handful of smaller meeting halls; the five kitchens with their connected dining chambers; and the multitude of cellars, butteries, bottleries, storerooms, and pantries (enough to accommodate hearty Asgardian appetites). The large, high-ceilinged library with its towering shelves, movable iron ladders, cozy chairs, and gleaming metal fireplaces inhabited a floor all to itself. Another one of Loki’s favorite places, the Observatory, was at the top of the highest tower. It had a domed ceiling that could be retracted to reveal the sky, as well as the palace’s largest window, from which one could see the Bifrost. There were the All-father’s rooms (including a large study; a dark, windowless room for spellcasting; and a smaller library that contained his personal books); Frigga’s private rooms; their shared bed chamber with attached wardrobe and bathroom; the smaller bedrooms for the palace attendants; the multitude of guest rooms; and of course Loki’s and Thor’s rooms--their bedrooms, bathrooms, and adjoined sitting area. Below the main level was the All-father’s personal vault, and even farther below that were the dungeons. There were ten hidden passageways scattered throughout the palace, and Loki knew them all. But never, in all his time spent walking from one end of the palace to the other, sitting in quiet corners to read, or play-fighting down long hallways with wooden swords, had Loki ever come across a simple-looking black door.

“Loki!”

Startled, Loki turned. Thor was coming towards him, and the smile on his face was like it always was: wide and wonderful. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t in the library.”

Loki blinked and took a few deep breaths. His heart rate had jumped at the sound of Thor’s loud voice, and it was now rabbiting in his chest in a rather uncomfortable way. As Thor came to a stop before him, Loki looked around himself again, his fingers cupping his chin as he pondered. “Does this room look familiar to you?”

“What?” Thor took a quick look around. “It’s just a sitting room. There are hundreds of these in the palace. They all look the same.”

“I know, but… doesn’t this one feel… off?”

“You’re head’s still fuzzy from the party last night, isn’t it?” Thor’s grin turned sly, and he went on, apparently unperturbed. “I went into your room. You haven’t even opened all your gifts. What’s wrong with you?” Thor’s playful shove knocked Loki sideways. Even though the boy was both younger and shorter than Loki, he was already showing signs of the future presence he would have. His shoulders were broader than Loki’s, and his hands and feet were larger; his grip was stronger, and he could wield a short sword or small axe with more power and accuracy than Loki could. Thor was sturdy, while Loki was slight. He was power, where Loki was speed. Sun and moon. Sword and dagger. A necessary difference.

Loki was started to feel better. His brother’s sunny disposition reminded him of their mother’s, and it was just as contagious. “You’re probably right.”

Thor hooked an arm around one of Loki’s and started to propel him forward. “Come on. I’ll help you open the rest of your presents.”

Back in Loki’s room, presents, opened boxes, and shredded wrappings were _everywhere_. Thor had torn through them with gusto, plucking gifts out of Loki’s hands when he wasn’t opening them fast enough. Loki hadn’t minded; in fact, his mood was buoyant now as memories of the night before hit him again and again when each present was revealed. And he couldn’t help but laugh at Thor’s entertaining commentary and his hilarious attempts to try and figure out the uses of the various magical items that Loki had been gifted.

“What do these do?”

Thor was holding up three long, slender wands. They were made of wood and tapered at the ends, and etched into the surface of each were tiny runes. 

Loki held up his hands, palms outward. “Stop, stop!” he cried, although he was laughing.

Thor had gripped the end of one and was waving it around wildly as if he was trying to shake the spells out of it; now he had taken up the _en garde_ stance and was using the wand like a sword, slashing and stabbing at an invisible opponent. He was a silly sight indeed, and Loki would’ve fallen to the floor in a fit of wild laughter if his presents hadn’t been in the way.

“Don’t wave them around like that!” he said between chortles. “There’s magic in them!”

Immediately, Thor dropped the wands, but not because of Loki’s plea--his hand had dove back into the pile and picked up something else. “What’s this?” Thor said, crinkling his nose. He was holding up a jar that had a red ribbon around the top. Loki peered at it, recognizing it instantly.

“Dried apples and snakeskins. The main ingredients for a potion that makes the drinker horribly tongue-tied and oafish. Sadly, the effects are temporary.”

“I know just the person to use that potion on,” Thor said mischievously, tossing the jar lightly in one hand as he spoke. “Speaking of which...” 

Thor had picked up another box and was squinting at the writing on the card. “‘To Loki,’” he read. “‘Many happy returns. Don’t let Thor catch you reading these. He’s likely to steal them. Regards, Fandral.’ Ooooooh.”

There was a scuffle. Loki had dove for the box, lightning fast, but Thor had pushed him unto the floor and promptly sat on his back. Loki squirmed but his little brother was _heavy_.

“Don’t make me use magic on you!” Loki yelled, huffing with mock indignance and from the effort of trying to get Thor off of him. Thor ignored him. He was opening the gift gleefully, tearing through the wrapping paper and tossing it away--bits of the colorful paper were falling around Loki’s head--and soon the lid of the box followed. “They’re books! Adventure books.”

From his place on the floor, Loki turned his head to look as far behind him as he could. Thor was shuffling three narrow books between his hands and reading the covers: _The Harp of Gunnar, Helgi and the Wild Hunt_ , and _Sigmund’s Sword_.

“Since when does Fandral read books?” Loki asked cheekily. “Are you sure that wasn’t from Hogun?”

“The card said ‘Fandral’ on it--wait… Ah ha!” Thor said triumphantly and then threw his head back and guffawed.

“What? Let me see!” Loki was wriggling wildly underneath him now, twisting like a snake, and Thor let him up, his shoulders still shaking with huge peals of laughter. Loki hurried to look over his brother’s head. Hidden inside one of the books had been another smaller book; Thor had it splayed open in one hand. Clustered on each page were pictures of beautiful women in lounging poses, and they were all rather... scantily clad. Loki felt his heart speed up as his eyes fell on the curves of breasts spilling over tiny tops; the shapely hips clothed in equally tiny undergarments; the stomachs, smooth and stretched over curving spines; the legs, long, lithe--exposed skin, everywhere he looked... so much skin.

The brothers stared at the book a moment, with Thor casually turning the pages and neither of them speaking. Finally, Loki cleared his throat. He made a show of taking the book out of Thor’s hand. “Give me that. You’re too young for that _tripe_ ,” he said, his voice dripping with exaggerated loftiness. “I’ll look after this.” He settled cross-legged on the floor and continued the act, perusing the book with inflated covertness. “Hmm,” he said as he turned a page, his face hidden behind the cover. “ _Hmm_.” Thor laughed at him and threw an empty box at his head. “You’re so strange,” Thor said cheerily. The box bounced harmlessly off of Loki’s head and he ignored it and went back to flipping curiously through the book, his pretense dropped. He could hear Thor start to rummage through the presents again.

“Hey,” Thor’s voice called, “isn’t this from Sif?”

The book fell from Loki’s hand. He sprang up and stepped hastily on the few foot-sized spots of floor that he could still see and arrived at Thor’s side. His brother was holding up a large white box that was longer than it was tall. It wasn’t wrapped; the only ornamentation was a wide green ribbon that crisscrossed down the length and width of the box and came together in a large bow in the center. Caught in the middle of the bow was a brown and white striped feather.

“Here,” Thor said, handing Loki the box. Loki felt giddy excitement leap into his chest as he took the gift. Even his fingertips seemed to be tingling as he gently pulled the ribbon off and opened the lid.

“Wow,” Thor breathed, his eyes just barely seeing over Loki’s shoulder.

Loki reached into the box and freed Sif’s gift. Gripping it with both hands, he raised it tall, and it unravelled to the floor in a glossy spray of feathers. A cloak of falcon feathers. Hundreds of brown and white striped feathers lay stitched together, one right next to the other, all over the surface of the cloak. The feathers were so tightly packed, the cloth underneath them could only be seen from the inside. Near the neck of the cloak was an ornate-looking clasp in bright gold. Loki’s mouth was open but he couldn’t speak. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he could ever own. 

Thor was the first to break the silence.

“She read Father’s mind. A cloak of feathers for the Crow Prince. I bet she shot the birds herself.” Thor fell silent, suddenly thoughtful. He was looking at Loki and the smile was there in his eyes (like it always was), but something else was there, too. _Wondering_. Thor looked different somehow--older, perhaps?--and his voice was unusually soft when he spoke again. "If you are The Crow Prince, then who am I?"

Loki felt his heart stop. He was suddenly--terribly--ashamed. All this time, Loki hadn’t thought about the effect that his gifts and his blessings would have on Thor. Their Father’s praise, their people’s admiration, the promise of Loki’s future kinghood... they were such wonderful things. Figuring out oneself and one’s purpose in life could be a very challenging thing for a child, and Loki had had his identity handed to him on a silver platter. Silently, Loki scolded himself. He had to right this oversight, and he knew just what to do. It was Loki’s turn to face his brother and smile, and he did so, looking at Thor the way Odin had looked at him the night before: with love and pride, an endless amount.

"The Lion,” Loki replied, and one hand went to Thor’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “My Lion. When I am king, you will be my mightiest warrior, and I will send you forth to lay siege to Asgard’s enemies and to bring peace to all the realms. You will honor your family name with your exploits, and all glory will be upon you for ages and ages. The bards, they will sing of you, The Lion Prince."

Something was glinting in the corners of Thor’s eyes, but a moment later, it disappeared and his wide smile returned. "I like that," he said. He took the feathered cloak out of Loki’s hand and threw it over his brother’s thin shoulders. Thor stepped back, admiring it. “Nice,” he murmured.

Loki felt _warm_. Warm from the cloak itself; warm from Sif’s thoughtfulness, her loveliness; warm from Thor’s understanding and more--his acceptance.

All of a sudden, Loki’s feet were flying out from under him and he was flat on his back with Thor on top of him.

"Ha!” Thor yelled. “Pinned you!" The boy chuckled as he pulled a surprised Loki to his feet.

“Watch the feathers” Loki replied, feigning indignance as he pretended to obsess over the feathers, smoothing them down with his hands (they had not been damaged). Thor was half-turned in the other direction when Loki sprang for him. He made to tackle his side, but once again, Thor was stronger, and soon enough, Loki was back on the floor with Thor laying across his chest.

"Pinned you again!” Thor cried with a hearty laugh. He rose. “You know, you really need to come back to practice. You're getting rusty. Sif could probably beat you with both hands tied."

Loki was smiling as he got up. "Don't make me give you a lion's tail,” he chastised playfully. “I'd give you a tail”--here his eyes alighted with mischief--“then I'd make you _chase_ it."

"Would you give Sif a lion's tail if she pinned you?"

Loki hoped Thor couldn't see his blush. "...No."

Thor was eyeing him with a small smirk, and Loki looked away. He didn’t know what he thought of this new, _wise_ brother of his. And just when Loki didn’t think things could get any stranger, Thor’s smirk lightened and his voice grew thoughtful once more.

“I like her. I mean, not in that way, ewww...” Thor hastened to add, his palms raised as if in protest. “Like a friend.” 

Loki tried not to stare. For the first time, Thor’s gaze was heavy with unspoken words, and Loki knew immediately what he did not say. Thor had given Loki his blessing twice in less than a few minutes, and Loki was almost breathless with wonder over it. He felt as if these happy days could never end, and as he stood there in his cloak of feathers, looking back at his brother with wide eyes, he marvelled quietly to himself. His little brother, naive no longer. And all the more _wonderful_ for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odin's song about the "Rainbow Crow" was inspired from a Lenape myth of the same name.


	4. Everything Black

White. Biting whiteness-- _everywhere_ , whiteness. Burning, stinging, _violating_ her eyes like a forced stare into the sun. She was full of it, blind from it.

And she was happy. Oh, sweet happiness. It was bliss. To be sightless. To not... _know_.

But, wait... _No_. It wasn’t bliss, not truly. For even if she couldn’t see, her other senses would tell her. Her fingertips, they would feel it. Her ears would hear the whispers. And the pain of it, the _ache_. It was always there.

She would always know. She could never _not_ know.

So when her eyes started to adjust to the whiteness and she began to glimpse what lay before her, she did not stir. What did it matter? She did not care.

She was not supposed to care, to feel. It got her in trouble, when she did. So she didn’t.

The whiteness was gone. Even an echo, an outline of its piercing burn did not remain. She could now see clearly, and before her was...

Just her reflection. She was in a windowless white room with just her reflection. The room was small and square-shaped; the door she had entered through was gone, its edges, its _escape_ , having melted into the wall behind her. In front of her was a mirror that stretched the whole length of the back wall. It was frameless and spotless--and empty, for there was nothing else in the room to reflect. No furniture, no breeze, not even a shoe-scuff. Strange...

But wait-- _no_ \-- _stop_. She did not care.

She didn’t even need to look around herself to know that he was not here. The tall one. The sly one. The _thinker_. When he was near, she could feel it radiating off of him like an aura, the unrelenting movement of his mind. The secret spinning of thoughts, complicated and measured, like a spider’s web. And she could sense something else within him. A... _feeling_. Like some sort of burning. A hidden desire, perhaps? It was pervasive, like a life force. He had magic; she could tell. The fire ran low, but it was there. Maybe that was the source of the burning, his yearning for more than just magical dregs. Powerlessness. She could understand that. What had happened to his magic? she wondered. It was curious... Lost in thought, she moved her hand to cup her chin then automatically stopped herself. Her hand fell limply to her side, but surprisingly, she ignored it as her thoughts continued to spin. What must he be like with his magic at its zenith? Might and magic were a powerful combination. Just who was he?

Suddenly, she shook her head. It had been a violent gesture, like a desperate rousing from a nightmare. _Stop_ , she scolded herself. _Stop this. You do not care_.

She sat, crossing her legs in front of her. She would stay. She would wait. If he needed her, he would call, just like all the rest. So she sat, and she waited.

Bored.

Bored, bored. This was boring. This was--

 _Stop_ , she told herself abruptly and her thoughts scattered like a flock of startled birds. Her mind cleared. She thought of nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing. Her mind was empty.

Yes, this was better.

A few minutes later and without encouragement, her thoughts converged.

It may be boring, but at least she was away from… _her_.

 _Stop_ , she told herself firmly. _Stop caring_. 

Scatter, converge.

What the woman had done… Her master...

She had had many masters, and they had all.. _done_ things to her. They had all been terrible in their own ways.

But _her_...

 _Stop_ \--she did not care.

Scatter, converge, faster now.

The look in her green eyes, when she had done it, when she had--

Pain. Oh, the pain. The memory of it, the girl could not forget it. It was seared into her mind, just like she had been seared by--

 _Stop_ \--she did not…

She had probably deserved it, hadn’t she? The punishment? Of course she had. She should have known by now, what happened when she _felt_. When she _thought_. When she hesitated to obey an order for just a second.

 _You should know by now_ , she chastised herself harshly. _You should know by now!_

No… no… these were just thoughts, feelings--they would get her in trouble again! Her hands reached up to clutch the sides of her head and she squeezed her eyes shut. _Stop!_ she ordered herself. _Stop!_

The voice in her head was suddenly adamant. _You shouldn’t think these horrid things about your master! They’re lies. You need her! She’s the only one who cares--_

 _No, no, it’s not right_ , another thought countered. _If she cared so much, then why would she_ \--

 _Just don’t care_ , a third voice seemed to say. _Don’t think. It’s wrong._

 _Stop caring_ , the voices demanded, all together now.

_Stop thinking!_

_But the Enchantress…_

_The mask…_

_Don’t care._

_Don’t care._

_DON’T CARE!_

It wasn’t helping. She rose to her feet. She began to pace. Her reflection followed her, back and forth, back and forth. She strode to the front wall and ran her hands over it. No door. No break, nothing. She walked to the mirror. She placed a hand, gently, on its surface. There was something about it, something strange, as if it was a precious thing, a rarity, a mere fingerprint away from debasement. But she touched it anyways and her reflection met her, palm to palm.

Her hand dropped. Nothing. She hadn’t felt anything but cool glass.

She started to pace again. She was angry. She could feel it hot within her. The anger. The _power._

The room suddenly felt warm. The temperature was rising. The heat--it was stifling. She should take off her mask. It weighed heavily against her face, itchy, hot. She should take it off, rip the scratchy white fabric _right_ off--

But she never took off her mask. _Never._ She didn’t want to see, didn’t want to _know..._

Her fingers dug claw-like into her hair. She would scratch out these thoughts!

Itchy, uncomfortable, hot, _hot...._

 _Take it off, take it off._ The thoughts rose within her again, but this time, they were soothing, like a balm. _No one is here. No one will see. Take the mask off._

Her hands released her hair. Slowly, tentatively, she unwound the fabric around her face and let it fall. Her eyes flew to the mirror. Flew, and caught.

Her _face._

It was like she had worn the mask for so long, she had forgotten how she looked like.

Eyes, large and gold, like the sun. _They_ were familiar. But the rest… Nose, slender and curving slightly upwards. Lips, full but not wide and neither pink nor red, a shade in between and subtle. Skin, tawny-colored and smooth. A hint of ruddiness at the cheeks. Chin, average. Face, heart-shaped.

She had been alive long enough to know that her features weren’t ever considered truly beautiful (at least not all together), but she did not care. She liked them. Because they were hers. _Only_ hers.

She sat, crossing her legs before her once more, the toes of her dirty sandals touching the glass. The mask lay on the floor--forgotten, like her anger. Her reflection was inches away. She stared at it and she sighed. _This_ was bliss.

****

Three weeks had passed since Loki’s birthday party. Life returned to normal and the palace was quiet once more. Loki had only seen brief glimpses of his father, and each time, the All-father had been immersed in his kingly duties--pouring over maps with the captains of his army or meeting with delegates from Vanaheim (the Marauders were on the move again)--so Loki hadn’t bothered him. Odin had even been absent at dinner, which Frigga usually frowned upon, but she did not complain; Loki was sure that his mother knew it was a necessary product of the rigors of kinghood (and that Odin tried his hardest to not to make it a regular thing).

When Loki saw his father coming towards him in the hallway, Loki was mildly surprised to see that he was alone. Alone _and_ looking for him.

“Loki, there you are.”

Ever since Loki’s inquisitive nature had manifested itself early on in his childhood, “Loki, there you are” had quickly become a common form of greeting, and Loki smiled to himself as he heard his normally reticent father say it.

“I have been wanting to ask you a question,” Odin called as strode forward. As father and son reached each other in the middle of the hallway, there came a hoarse-sounding summons. It was a pair of caws, one right after the other and so similar in tone and inflection that the second caw could have been an echo. Two large crows had flown in through the nearby window and were circling down in the air towards them.

“Ah,” said Odin as one of the crow’s came to rest on his outstretched hand. The other crow swooped around the All-father and settled on his right shoulder.

Odin pointed to the crow on his hand. “This is Munin. You may remember him from your birthday party.” He stretched his hand forward; automatically, Loki’s hand met his, and the crow settled there, small feet curving around Loki’s fingers.

“And this is Hugin.” The All-father shrugged his shoulder to indicate the bird there, and it shifted, spreading and closing its dark wings. “They are my eyes and ears. I send them out each day and they return with news from the nine realms.”

Loki peered at the bird on his hand. With its glossy black feathers and raised head, it had a regal air about it, which Loki found intriguing; he had never thought of crows to be regal creatures, and he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that before his birthday party, _no one_ had. No one, except the All-father. 

“And what do they tell you today, Father?” Loki asked.

Odin cocked his head towards Hugin and the bird leaned in and opened its beak towards the All-father’s ear. It looked like it was whispering though Loki heard no sound.

“There is unrest in the mortal realm, but there is always unrest there,” Odin said, his tone even, unconcerned. “And the Marauders will soon be driven from Vanaheim. Our army has defeated them, and they are on the run.”

Loki nodded in acknowledgement. His father always seemed to make ruling nine different realms look easy, but Loki knew it was not.

Odin waved a hand and both crows took off from their perches and swooped out of sight. Bright blue eyes came to rest on Loki once more.

“What I wanted to ask you was this: Who are you?” 

His father’s tone was light, almost playful (though his eyes were a mystery) and Loki laughed.

“What do you mean, Father? I am your son.”

For a moment, Odin merely looked at him. Then his face split into a rare smile.

“Yes, you are,” he said, and he reached an arm around Loki’s shoulder and hugged him. Loki stiffened slightly in surprise then relaxed and returned the hug. Just like Thor, his father seemed _different_ , more emotive somehow, more supportive, and Loki thought it a fine change indeed.

****

The black door. It stared at him and he stared at it. Loki had been coming back from the library one afternoon when he had run into it again. He had been startled. Another one? But he had taken this same route to the library hundreds of times. How could he have never noticed a plain-looking black door? Suddenly his home seemed much more mysterious and confusing, and his thoughts were flying this way and that as he walked, his feet carrying him back to his room on their own accord. When he had opened the door, he had found a small sitting area like before, but this time, there had a been a bedroom at the end of the hall. It was simple and not very large, similar to the many other guestrooms that littered the palace. Once again, perfectly ordinary. But it couldn’t be so… It _couldn’t_ be.

Could it?

He stopped. A voice had hailed him, and as he recognized the caller, the puzzling nature of the black doors disappeared from his mind.

Sif was walking towards him. Loki took one look at her and gasped. “Your hair!”

When she reached him she bowed, something she had never done before, and Loki was so taken aback by both the bow _and_ her hair that he bowed in return even though he didn’t need to. They both straightened up and Loki surveyed her, eyes wide.

Gone were the long, golden locks that used to fall to the middle of the girl’s back in a curtain of shimmering silk. The ones that would often, in the quickness and power of her fighting prowess, come undone from their ties and fall in a hush of spun gold so lovely, Loki had often wanted to reach out and brush the strands away; to touch, at once, them and her beautiful face. But now the gold was gone and in their place was a darkness. Not the typical darkness, like the kind found in shades of brown: oak or mahogany or chocolate. It wasn’t even brown-ebony. It was _crow-black._

“I dyed it,” Sif explained. Her voice was soft and she seemed to be in a hurry to get the words out.

“Why?”

“All the girls are doing it. And not only the girls, the guys, too.”

Loki was surprised. Sif wasn’t one to care about trends.

“My mother doesn’t like it,” she went on, breathless. “But I wanted to do it… For you.”

Loki stared at her. Faint spots of color had appeared on her cheeks, and her blue eyes were _searching_. He suddenly realized how close they were. Her face… it was right there in front of him: the milky white skin; her lips, wide and pale pink, the color of Celsiana roses. She smelled of roses, too, faintly, but the scent was there, and as Loki stared at her and breathed of her, he felt his heart rate start to quicken. He was stunned. Here, before him, was a girl who somehow exuded a wonderful mix of extremes: strength and grace, beauty and ruggedness, courage and vulnerability--and who, just like he, did not seem to fit the Asgardian role she was born into. Something was happening between them--a kindling of an invisible fire--but when Loki didn’t say anything, she hurried to fill the silence. “Um, to be _like_ you. You know, The Crow Prince...”

Something stilled inside him but it wasn’t the fire. A feeling of calm had come over his mind, and he was resolute with the _knowing_. He met her eyes and held them, and when he spoke, his voice did not waver.

“Sif. You don’t have to bow to me. You don’t have to change for me. You don’t have to do anything, but be… you.”

Lovely blue eyes were wide as they studied his face. “Why?” she breathed.

“Because you are enough.” He reached forward and grasped a wisp of her dark hair, and his voice was a murmur. “More than enough.”

His fingers were twined in her hair. It was as if the inky tendrils had caught him and were pulling him in, closer, closer. The touch, it was exhilarating. His whole hand was submerged in the darkness now, and his fingers were spread as he gently cupped the side of her head and tilted it back, guiding her to meet him. The softness, the wonder was sweet on her face. Her lips were mere breaths away, so, so _close--_

From around the corner up ahead, a woman’s voice: “Sif! Come along, we’re leaving.”

Sif’s shoulders jerked, startled, and she stepped back. Her hair ran through his hand like water, and he dropped his arm to his side. “O-oh, okay, Mother!” she called.

They were apart now and whatever spell they had been under was gone. The silence was awkward, hanging heavily in the air like a barrier between them.

“Um, I have to go,” Sif said finally.

Loki tried to smile. “Oh, yes, of course.”

She was still scrutinizing him, but for some reason her warrior-reserve had risen to the surface and she seemed much more solemn now. Loki felt his body--which had been so warm just moments ago--freeze. He should do something. Touch the side of her face again or take her hand. But though his insides were a whirlwind of emotions, on the outside, he was stone; he could not move.

But he did not have to, for she had taken two steps forward, rose up on her tiptoes, and kissed him.

Touching her face had been nothing compared to this. Her lips were soft and warm and every small movement they made sent shivers through him. His hands found her hair again, then the side of her face, over her shoulders, down to the small of her back, then up to her face again. Her hands were not as bold, but every shy touch they made seemed to burn him, a wonderful, thrilling burn. The smell of roses filled his nose and he had to kiss the source: the area on her neck just below her chin, and she gave a little gasp as he did so, and he could feel her pulse quicken beneath his lips. He found her lips again and her warrior-fierceness was there to meet him this time: her mouth parted boldly and her hands were eager--meeting, searching, finding. He was found in her, and she in him, and it was bliss.

He wanted to stay like this forever but an odd nagging feeling nibbled the back of his mind and he reluctantly pulled away. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly--confusion was not the usual feeling that accompanied kissing, was it?--but then he noticed her looking at him in a way that made him feel like their lips were still touching. She hadn’t noticed his concern and he was glad for it. Now her mother was calling her name again and she was leaving him, her black hair blowing softly in the wind coming in from the entrance hall up ahead.

A few steps from the corner, she looked back and her eyes threatened to take him, and he was. _Taken_. And when she finally turned the corner and was gone from his sight, he realized he had forgotten to thank her for her gift. For _both_ gifts.

****

She would lose her face. 

If she continued to stare at herself like this, she thought wryly, her face would disappear, wiped clean, like the corn husk doll. In the mirror across from her, golden eyes widened. She hadn’t thought about that old Iroquois tale for... how long? Years? Centuries? Did she still remember it? She closed her eyes, and slowly, out of the dark recesses of her mind, the tale took shape.

_“Many years ago, Corn, one of the Three Sisters, was wanting to make something she had never made before. She had already made the moccasin and the salt boxes, the mats, and the face. The Great Spirit, impressed by her curiosity, gave her permission. After much thought, she made little people out of corn husk who would spread all over the earth, bringing brotherhood and contentment to the Iroquois people. Which they did. There was much happiness and harmony among the land._

_It just so happens that she made a corn husk person very beautiful. At first, this corn husk person went from village to village playing with the children and making herself useful. Everywhere she went, the people would tell her how beautiful she was. Soon, the words took root in her heart, and she became very selfish and vain. Perturbed, the Great Spirit spoke to her, explaining that this was not the right behavior. He warned her that she would be punished if she continued this way, and she promised profusely that she would never misbehave again. One day, this beautiful corn person went into the woods and saw herself in a pool of water. She couldn’t help but admire her reflection, for she was indeed very beautiful. At this, the Great Spirit sent a large screech owl out of the sky, and it snatched her reflection from the water… or so she thought. Upon inspection, she realized that the Great Spirit had taken away her face. She would roam the earth forever, looking for something she could do to gain her face back again.”_

It had been wise old Onatah who had first told it to her. She remembered the old woman’s voice the most; it had been low and airy, like the hooting of an owl. She remembered the way the village children crowded around Onatah whenever the elder began to tell her engaging tales. Her voice, her words, they had been like magic. Where was the tribe now? The girl had no idea. She hadn’t let herself think about them for years.

The sprawling forest. The trees that reached the sky. The crisp air. The smokey, piney smell of burning firewood. The whispery clink of beads on buckskin. Her mind seemed to _stretch_ , and the memories came faster now, one right after the other. She remembered the first time she had tasted the source of the corn husk doll, that oddly-shaped yellow vegetable. She remembered the crunch of it and the surprising hint of sweetness. How good it had tasted in the soup. She remembered the steam from the soup, wafting, wafting. The smell of it. The brown hands passing wooden bowls of it from person to person. The faces, the smiles. How old Onatah had stood up amid the sleepy, full contentment and told her captivating tale. And later that evening, how she, the girl who was not like the others, had sat with the children making dolls out of the empty corn husks--dolls with no faces, of course--and how she had made the dolls dance in the air without touching them, and how the children’s eyes had grown _so round_. And how they had laughed, thin shoulders shaking and small bodies rocking, and how she had laughed with them.

Suddenly, with her mind trained on the memory, the girl’s mouth opened. She... _laughed_. It burst out of her, ringing around the room, and it was so loud, so unexpectedly joyous that she flinched, startled. She stared at herself in the mirror, her own eyes growing round. How long had it been since she had laughed? A feeling of warmth was spreading through her and it was not from the heat of her power or her anger. It was from something else. It was foreign, but it was wondrous, and she grabbed hold of the feeling and let it fill her. She laughed again, louder this time, and her ears followed the echo. She laughed a third time, and the echoes ran together, a chorus of giggles. It was absurd, her sitting there, alone in a white room and laughing. But she didn’t care. Her lips spread into a smile.

She sucked in a breath, startled again. A smile! How long had it been since she had smiled? She drew closer to the mirror, surveying herself in wonder. Her smile broadened, showing white teeth. It was amazing, she thought, how something as simple as a smile could light up one’s features. How a smile could… _perfect_ them. Erase their faults. Uncover their beauty. She was glowing, and it wasn’t just her eyes for once--her smile, her whole face, was radiant.

Unconsciously, she spread out her arms. In the mirror, her reflection seemed to hesitate for just a moment, but then she was turning, her arms stretched out to her sides like wings. She lifted her feet as she spun, stomping the floor in rhythmic beats. She closed her eyes as her mind filled with newly-remembered sounds: voices, high and guttural and beautiful despite their roughness, and the incessant beat of hide-covered drums. She felt weightless and without care, without worry. On and on, she danced and the echo of her footsteps filled up the room as if others were dancing with her. As if she wasn’t alone.

She was breathless and lightheaded from the dancing, but it was a worthy trade. Earlier, she had been mistaken. _This_ was bliss.

Her smile, her laughter, her dancing. It was happiness, and it was right.

_No._

She stopped. Her arms fell to her sides as if they bore weights, and her feet planted. She stared at her reflection. _Glared_ at it.

It was wrong.

Her smile, her lips, her face. They were wrong.

They weren’t _hers_ , they weren’t even allowed--they were wrong!

Thoughts, memories, singing, dancing--

_Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG!_

Her body went rigid as awareness flooded her every sense.

She was like a dark beast of legend, held caged and dormant for centuries, with nothing to do but dream restless dreams. Until _now_. Now her cage was open. Her shackles, gone. And the temperature within the room was suddenly very hot, and this time, it was real.

The power within her uncoiled. It coursed through her, running along every nerve. And converged to form one thought.

 _Kill_.

****

Time passed, and Loki felt like he could measure its passing with questions and doors. Every day Loki found another black door, and every day Odin asked Loki who he was. He started to wonder if Odin was testing him and if somehow the doors and Odin's questions were related. But whenever he tried to ask his father (or anyone else) about the doors, all he would get was the wave of a dismissive hand. "Oh, that door's been there for ages, even before you were born." "The palace is so large, dear, that's why you don't remember it." But Loki was not one to give up easily so he continued combing the castle for his little mysteries. Soon he was drawing maps and making notes, and residents of the palace often saw him walking around with his head buried in a piece of paper, muttering to himself and oblivious to anyone around him. 

It became repetitive: He would come upon a black door when he would be least expecting it. He would check the contents, find nothing unusual, and mark the door down on his map. When he would pass by again, the door would be gone, but so, too, would be the mark on his map. It was as if he had simply marked the door’s location down wrong. It was starting to drive him crazy. His memory was faultless--surely, _something_ was amiss. More time passed and he soon found it safe to theorize that he was only finding one black door at a time and that their locations were _definitely_ different. Definitely...

Er… weren’t they? Whenever he tried answering that question, a fog would settle in his mind and he’d feel unusually forgetful. Scatterbrained, even. He had never felt that way before and it was alarming, but then even that fearful feeling would dissipate inside him, as if his own self was telling him that everything was fine. And then he’d feel calm again and he’d go about his day without worry-- _until_ , he would stumble upon another black door. The whole process would repeat itself, over and over and over.

At one point, to try to give himself a break, he had turned to his other mystery. The questions. Or, rather, the _question_. Surely, hidden within Odin's persistent questioning was a riddle of some kind, so Loki started changing the way he answered. Some days, he answered with "The Crow Prince." Other days it was "Brother of Thor," "Lightbringer," "Son of Frigga," "Loki the Wise," "Loki the Crow," "Loki the Slight," "Loki the Just." But his father merely nodded at each one, apparently satisfied with anything he came up with. So Loki put it out of his mind and returned his focus to the doors.

Just when he would feel like he was finally pinpointing an important detail or pattern, his eyes would blur for just a second, and he would find that the part of the map that he had been looking at was perfectly normal-looking. It was so strange. _And_ exhausting. Loki felt like his eyes had become permanently crossed from staring at the map for so long. He lived in a perpetual state of _tiredness_ : his legs grew fatigued from the walking and even his arms would protest whenever he lifted one of his note-strewn papers. He ate his meals one-handed, the other hand (and his nose) seemingly glued to the map. He went to bed with papers strewn around him. He was a boy consumed.

It grew worse. The fog in his mind thickened, and he began to doubt himself. Question his sanity. When a period of time would pass without incident, he'd wonder if he was just imagining the whole thing. 

_But no!_ he would exclaim to himself with a start. He was not imagining it, for lo! before him--another door. And so he would open the door, find more deserted hallways and unobtrusive rooms behind it. He would mark the location on his map, he would place a finger atop his marking, he would walk farther down the hall and then stop. The mark would be gone. _Gone!_ Hurriedly, he would retrace his steps. The black door would be gone. What was going on?!

No one seemed to listen to him when he talked about it, and what was even stranger, they were all perfectly nonchalant about it. _They_ didn’t question his sanity when he had stood up in the middle of dinner one night and announced that the palace was haunted. They had merely laughed at him in that gentle, sweet way of theirs that was obvious in its withheld judgement. Normally, their unconcern about his oddities would please him, but it didn’t this time. It troubled him. Their nonchalance… it was wrong and, curiouser still, he could tell that it was genuine. How could they not see what he saw?

The days blurred together. Soon, even Sif’s presence couldn’t distract him. He hunted. He reasoned. He researched spells He cast spells. He tried, oh did he try. But still the mystery of the doors eluded him. His mind, his _home_ , were against him and he did not know why. 

He fought with himself. He went to war on his bemused feelings but they pushed back with a passion. So his logic joined the fray, as did his research, his memory. What he saw with his _very eyes_. But the fog was powerful. It choked his mind and flooded his senses with its its blissful calm, its promise of peace… Until finally, Loki fell into its sleepy embrace.

He slowed his walking. He put away his notes. He discarded the map. He went about his days like he used to and his good spirits--his contentment--returned.

And the black doors disappeared.

"Hail, Loki," Odin called one day as he spotted Loki walking towards him in the hall. "Who are you?"

"Your son," Loki answered absentmindedly. He hurried past his father, his mind on his destination. He had been in the midst of performing a tricky transfiguration spell when he had stumbled upon a question; now the library was like a siren song, calling his name.

_Prisoner._

Loki froze. What was _that?_ He had felt that piercing sense of wrongness again, and it had stopped him dead in his tracks. He hadn't felt that feeling in a long time. And this time there had been more. A picture of a white room had flashed in his mind and it was horrible in its bleakness, like the cell in an asylum. _Prisoner. Prisoner. _It was like his subconscious was desperately trying to tell him something.__

_But what was it?_

Suddenly anxious, he turned around but his father was already gone. Loki backtracked, poking his head in and out of rooms, but his father wasn't in any of them. Loki felt a familiar crease form on his brow as he headed for his mother's chambers.

He found her quickly. She was sitting at the large oak desk in her study. Papers were spread out before her, illuminated by the sunlight falling through the large window at her back.

"Mother," Loki said as he walked up to her. He tried to keep his voice calm. "Why does Father keep asking me who I am?"

He was a very good actor. Frigga put down the paper she had been reading and smiled lovingly at him, unaware that anything was wrong.

"He wants to make sure you know who you are," she replied. "That's a very important thing, knowing oneself."

"But I know who I am. Don't I?"

"Of course you do."

"Then why does he--"

Frigga raised her hand. "Humor him, darling." Her voice was still tinged with gentle reassurance. "Just like you, your father's ways can be a mystery." She sighed, her eyes smiling as she did so. "It is what I told him from the beginning, how you too were so very alike. And I'm afraid, it did take him awhile to see that. But sometimes when two people are so close, it becomes hard to see the similarities. Sometimes, it's hard to look into a mirror because you're afraid that you might see… _your true self."_

She beamed at him, her smile of sunlight.

Your true self...

_Bring him forward..._

_Not my son...._

_Bring the prisoner forward..._

Loki's voice was suddenly severe. "He is _not_ my father."

Delicate brows furrowed and warm eyes blinked. "What?"

"He is _not_ my _father_ ," Loki repeated. He was looking at her like he had never looked at her before: with _anger_.

"Loki," Frigga gasped. "Why do you say this?" She was frightened, she was hurt, it was obvious. "Am I not your mother?"

"NO!" he yelled.

And his heart broke.

He ran.

"Loki, _there_ you are. Want to practice?"

Thor, coming towards him, grinning like a fool. "You need to if you think you'll ever beat The Lion--"

Loki cut him off. "You didn't come visit me."

Thor was confused. His eyebrows were crossed and his mouth was hanging open in that _stupid-looking gape_. "What?"

"In my cell. You didn't come visit me."

"What cell? What are you talking about?"

"You didn't come," Loki repeated and his eyes were overbright. "After all the time I had been there, right under your feet, you didn't come." His voice was rising. "After all we had done together, you still didn't come! We were _brothers_!" Loki spat the word out, wrenching it from himself.

Thor's eyes grew round with fearful concern. "But Loki... we _are_ brothers."

Loki _burned_. His eyes burned, his body burned, his voice burned.

"No, we are _not_."

He ran.

He searched the palace. Every corner, every room, every secret hiding place. And by the time he had found the All-father he was almost delirious with the pain and the anger--the _despair_. The horrible feelings inside him were intruders; they did not belong. But they were potent, persistent. Like a cancer, they devoured the good things--his feelings of happiness, his sense of belonging, his perfect little world--and turned them all _black_.

The black door.

Odin stood before it and watched as Loki came towards him.

"Who are you?" Odin asked. His voice was a secret, betraying nothing.

Lies. Betrayal. Pain.

"Who are you?"

Murder. Darkness. Numbness. Cold--freezing cold.

"Who are you?"

Chains. Broken dreams. Embarrassment. Shame. Defeat. Pain.

Freezing cold, numbing pain.

_"Who are you?"_

_"I am your son."_

The words, they had tasted like ash in his mouth every time he had said them.

_"Your father and I love you more than you will ever know."_

_"We're brothers, you and I. Brothers to the end."_

Lies, lies, more lies!

_"One day, Loki, you will be king."_

This was _all_ a lie!

"Who are you?"

Loki raised his head, and his gaze met the All-father's and held it.

“I am Loki," he said, "and I am _not_ your son.”

The All-father was silent. Finally, softly: "Who are you, then?"

“Loki Liesmith, Serpentongue, _Laufeyson_!” He spat the words out, his body quaking with each utterance. “A traitor. A murderer. Homeless, _realm-less…_ ”

The All-father was smiling, a hungry, crazed grin that was illicit on his face. His voice was gentle no longer. _“Who are you?”_

“The Trickster, the _monster…_ ”

_“WHO ARE YOU?”_

“Nothing!” Loki screamed. “I AM NOTHING!” His knees hit the ground and his hands followed. He bowed his head, all but choking on his words. “Nothing… to _no one_.”

A creaking sound. The black door was open. And inside it, there were no more hallways and no more rooms. There was only a small alcove, and all it contained was a pedestal. And on top of the pedestal was a thin metal stand, and hanging from that stand was an amulet. Large, red. A red stone. A gold chain.

Loki got to his feet and reached out a hand. It was not a child's hand. He grasped the amulet and pulled it close to his chest. He stood there clutching the warm stone and was still, very still. On the inside, it was different. A storm. Rage. _Hurt_. He felt torn open and in shock, like his heart had been ripped from his chest and crushed before his very eyes, squeezed to pieces by a ruthless, cold hand--the hand of his loved ones. His family. _They_ had done this to him. Lies--betrayal--pain--unwanted--unloved--he felt _everything_ , and he felt nothing. Numb. Dead.

Some time had passed before he looked around himself.

He was in a white room. The windowless white room he had stepped into when he had opened the door to Odin's vault.

Odin...

Odin was gone. _Everything_ was gone.

Loki was alone in a white room. Alone, like he always was.

It had been Odin's magic, the mightiest of spellguards, designed to trick intruders into forgetfulness by submerging them in a false dream that contained their heart’s desires. Odin, leading him astray, lying to him, hurting him... _Again_.

"You son of a whore,” Loki swore to the air. “You _argr_. You King of All Lies.” He gripped the amulet tightly and a thin line of blood dripped from his palm. "I _will_ kill you."

Suddenly, Loki was blasted off of his feet. He hit the corner of the room with terrible force, and as stars burst behind his eyes, his whole realty came whooshing back to him--his imprisonment, his escape, the Enchantress, the girl, his task, his _plan_ \--and Loki laid there, shaking, his hand still gripping the amulet. An explosion had knocked a hole in the wall opposite him, and it had ripped right through Odin's enchanted doorway, obliterating the All-father's lovely little land of hedge mazes and Greek monsters. Through the hole, Loki could see the inside of the witch's cottage, the dried herbs, the glass jars. Slowly, carefully, he stood. On shaking legs, he walked over to the hole and stepped through.

The cottage was quiet-- _too_ quiet, considering that the source of the explosion was there, the god-killer, and she looked absolutely livid. She was standing over the old woman, clutching at the neck of the woman’s black robe, and the girl’s masked face was inches from those sightless eyes. In stark contrast, the god-killer’s eyes were searing black pits, and Loki could almost feel heat rolling off of her body in angry waves. She looked like she wanted to devour the woman, and a moment later, her magic did, and Loki did not stop her. Ash was floating past him, just like before, but he did not care. He glared at the girl, this mystery who defied him, eluded him, _mocked_ him with her silence. How dare she, how _dare_ she…

With all her mighty power, how could she had not known what spellguards lay within Odin’s vault? She had walked into it unafraid, unconcerned... Loki’s thoughts were suddenly _wild_ within him. Maybe she _had_ known, a wicked voice whispered. Maybe she had known what Loki was stepping into-- _the lies, the betrayal, the pain_ \--and had chosen not to tell him. _Well_. She had made the _wrong_ choice.

He would show her how _his_ eyes, _his_ hand, could burn.

The time for answers was now.


	5. Lira

Outside, the sun was setting. Loki could see its red-gold rays filtering through the thin trees around him. Upon seeing him standing there in the cottage, the girl had promptly turned and walked out the door as if nothing had just happened. As he had automatically fallen into step behind her, his memory, his anger, had flared. He had always been a follower, he realized, always come in second. He had always been overlooked, always lied to, whether _with_ words or without them. But _no_. 

_Not anymore._

He raised his chin, drawing himself up to his full height. “ _Stop_.”

The girl halted and looked questioningly at him from over her shoulder. On silent feet, he approached her, moving through the woods with deliberate slowness. His face was a mask of fierce intent.

“What did you see in Odin’s vault?” he demanded of her, his tone icy, menacing.

Silence. Loki loomed over her now, so close that his breath stirred her hair. Her covered face was tilted up to him just like before, but this time, her bright eyes were wide. He spoke again.

“Answer me.”

Nothing. His eyes narrowed as his displeasure rose. His voice was like a fist.

“Why do you not speak? Answer me!”

When she still did not reply, he reached out a hand towards her face. His fingers had barely brushed the mask there when her hand shot up and gripped his wrist, stopping him with a quickness and a pressure that was startling. Her eyes began to swirl with a dark warning, but he was unafraid. He felt electrified, _murderous_. The air around them seemed to ripple with an unseen intensity, with a _thrill_ , like they were two mighty warriors meeting on the battlefield for the first time. But Loki knew he had already won.

“Your master ordered you to obey me,” he told her, his voice hushed with power, with the mightiest of threats. His ace in the hole.

At this reminder, the tension ebbed from the air. The girl’s eyebrows drew together in a sign of unhappiness, and she blinked as her eyes returned to their normal color. She bowed her head, curls swinging lightly over her shoulders, and let go of his wrist. Loki pressed his lips together to hold back a sigh of satisfaction, and with a swift movement, he plucked the fabric from her face. This time, she did not try to stop him.

The mask almost fell from his hand. Ever since he had been a child, he had trained himself to control his expression, to remain calm in the midst of chaos, horror… But he could not do that now. Immediately, his face _twisted_. He stared at her, eyes wider than they had ever been, mouth open in surprise and dismay and disgust.

Beneath the mask, there was a nose just like any other girl’s nose, slender, unassuming. But below that was… _nothing_. A terrible shock of nothing. Where her mouth should have been, there was a hole. It was as if a great clawed hand had ripped her lips away, torn them and her jaw right off of her face. He could see the back of her throat, red and glistening with saliva; the missing tongue; and the top part of her esophagus as even some of the skin on her neck was gone, wrenched off with the rest of her jaw. Realization flooded his body like poison, and he felt sick. This was why she did not speak.

With such a horrible, gaping wound, it was impossible for her to still be alive. But she was, and at that moment, Loki knew that at least one part of the Enchantress’ tale had to be true: the girl was a god. As immortal as she was powerful. But despite all the power in the universe, she lived her days like _this_.

Something moved in his chest. A new feeling was stirring there, one he hadn’t felt for a long time. _Pity_.

“What happened to you?” he breathed, his voice transformed, threatening no longer.

Her shoulders slumped and air rushed out of the hole in her face like a sorrowful, resigned sigh. Gone was the confidence, the destructive presence. She looked like a young girl, smaller and more delicate--more emotionally damaged--than he had noticed before. But she did not cry. She raised her hand again and light sparkled in her palm. Unexpectedly, a blank piece of parchment appeared there. Her other hand now held a charcoal pencil. She began to draw. Her detailed drawing blossomed on the page, spurred by an unspoken spell so that she was finished within seconds.

A woman. Beautiful, with eyes that flashed with malice. _The Enchantress_.

The girl tapped the other end of the pencil on the parchment. The image disappeared. She started anew.

It was as if she was drawing on the surface of Loki’s mind. The pencil hastened across the page, and the images came alive in his head, as clear as a memory of his own.

_The Enchantress was standing over the girl, and the girl’s blood was on her face. The echo of a scream hung dying in the air. The woman had a grip on one of the girl’s wrists, and her arm was stretched out behind her, as if she had just forced the girl to throw something. Which indeed, she had. In the dim light of the cavern, Loki saw the awful mangled remains of a tongue, lips, teeth, and a chin resting in a pool of blood a few feet away. The air still sizzled with the embers of the magical fire that had accompanied the arc of the throw._

_“That is what happens when you do not obey me,” the woman snarled. She let go of the slender wrist, and the girl fell back onto the floor, writhing in agony. There was blood on the girl’s hands, blood on her dress, blood everywhere, a seemingly impossible amount. Her hands clutched at her face, trembling at the rawness there, the horror. The girl could not scream in pain or despair or anger. She should be dead now, the pain intercepted by sweet release. But she did not die, and the pain would eventually lessen to an ache that was healed but not truly. A constant grim reminder._

_She would never utter another word, or show her face, again._

The drawing disappeared and the paper followed. Loki’s breathing was shallow. He was shaking. Bile was in his throat.

“You did it to yourself,” he said finally. He could only manage a whisper. “She commanded you to do it.”

With eyes downcast, she nodded. It was the smallest of movements but its softness broke something within him. Anger rose up in his chest, rearing like tsunami, a deadly snake about to strike. He was sick with it, consumed by it. He wanted his power back. He wanted to feel it spill into his hands, hot with electricity, with fire. He wanted to tear the measly forest around them apart. Burn this good-for-nothing realm to the ground. Destroy something, _anything_. Some _one_.

He did not know how long they had stood there in the grass, two unmoving forms, as if they were as rooted to the ground as the trees that surrounded them. In later times, when he would reflect back on that moment, the strength of his anger would surprise him. He had not known he could feel such anger towards anyone but the House of Odin. And for something that hadn’t been done to him! He would never forget how rage-filled he had been, how desperately he had wanted to act. To destroy. He had been done with the schemes. Done with the waiting. The time had come for his anger to be unleashed.

But then the girl reached out a small hand and grasped his arm, right around the crook where the leather was the softest. She was looking at him now, her eyes hooded with calm, and he realized with a jolt that she was reassuring him--comforting _him!_ when it was _her_ that should be comforted. _Her_ that should be avenged. He stumbled back from her touch, overcome with too many emotions for his usually-quick mind to process. He turned and walked away from her, the muscles in his arms screaming as he tried again and again to summon his power. But nothing happened, and it was then when he realized that he still clutched her scarf. With considerable effort, he forced an exhale and unclenched his hand. In his anger, his fingers had almost torn right through the thin fabric. Slowly, he turned around again. She was still standing there gazing at him, her ruined face on full display, her eyes like pools of molten glass. Now he noticed that she stood straighter, as if she was daring him to taunt or torment her. It was something, he believed, he would never unsee. Her expression…. Had she thought that he had rejected her, like all the rest? But had he? With his feet moving on their own accord, he approached her. With gentle movements, he settled the scarf around her face and neck, wrapping it around and around and around. He let go of the ends and stepped back. Their eyes met, green to gold. Then she held out her hand. He took it without question, and suddenly they were hurtling through a tunnel of light and whooshing sound. Back to the grassy rolling hills of Vanaheim. Back to Asgard.

They reappeared. A familiar stone-covered hiding place greeted him, along with hundreds of other rockfaces that rose up all around them. The sun was warm on their backs, glinting off the top of the Asgardian treeline behind them. They were back where they had started, as if they hadn’t even set foot in Vanaheim. But it was a lie, Loki thought, to think that things hadn't changed. Wistful thinking. A ruse. Things had changed, whether he had wanted them to or not.

The girl started forward.

“Wait,” he said softly, extending his arm in front of her chest to stop her. “Do you have a name?” 

His voice was nothing like the first time he had asked it, and this time, she answered him with a small headshake from side to side.

“Surely you have one,” Loki said, gently pressing.

Eyes to the ground and a twitch of curls: a headshake again, side to side. A small movement that, once again, spoke volumes. Loki looked around them. His eyes moved but did not see.

“Lira,” he said finally. “Leer-ah.” He drew the syllables out, testing them. “Lira. It means 'She Who Carries The Sun In Her Eyes.'” His gaze lowered to search a face that did not acknowledge him. “Do you like it?”

Slowly, the covered face tilted up towards him and then nodded, hesitant at first, then with more conviction as if she had understood him. He allowed his lips a small smile.

“Then I shall call you it.”

She bobbed on her feet, and he could tell that she was pleased.

*****

A familiar flash of green.

The Enchantress, sitting on _his_ throne. 

When they came into view, the woman jumped up immediately and hurried down the dais’ stairs.

“Where have you _been_?” she demanded as she came to a stop in front of them. She wasn’t looking pleased. “A month has passed!”

At this surprising piece of news, Loki fought the urge to frown and succeeded. “I have brought you your amulet,” he said brusquely, holding the amulet up. “It’s quite lovely, but…” He hovered the amulet over the Enchantress’ corseted chest--the one that was currently heaving in anger--as if he was admiring it. “My, my, I don’t think they’ll be enough room on your neck for it. There are… other _rather robust_ things in the way.”

Amora continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I called the girl to me several times, but she did not respond. That has _never_ been so! And I tried to contact you, but again, nothing! I thought you had betrayed me,” she spat at him. “I did not know where you had gone. I almost grew mad from the wondering!”

“My sincerest apologies, Enchantress, for causing _you_ any stress,” Loki replied, his words like ice.

“You cannot hide from me, not with the girl under my control--”

“Yes, yes, calm yourself,” Loki replied, obvious in his unconcern. “Our absence is due to the effort it took to retrieve the amulet, not with any subterfuge on _my_ part.” His voice grew sweet. _Dangerously_ sweet. “Which reminds me, did you _really_ not know what types of guards Odin had placed on the vault?”

“No!” the Enchantress snapped.

“Really.”

“You’re lucky I even gave you anything to go by at all. You can’t even imagine what I had to do, the lengths I had to go to, to learn about the vault’s mere existence in the first place!”

“Mmm.” 

He believed her, but it still didn’t change her fate.

“Give me that!” Her fingernails scratched his hand as she snatched the amulet up. She brought it up to her face using two hands to cradle it; if she noticed its unusual warmth, she did not comment on it. As Loki watched, her anger turned to a hunger, and her eyes were redlit as she stared into the amulet’s depths.

Abruptly, she turned to the girl, to... _Lira_. The Enchantress grasped her by the neck of her dress and glared at her, pulling her close just like Lira had done to the old witch in the cottage.

“Did he betray me?” the Enchantress growled venomously. “ _Did_ he?”

An answering headshake, not soft this time but violent. Lira looked terrified, and Loki felt the storm of feelings that he had tried to leave back in Vanaheim threaten to overtake him once more, but he did not act.

The Enchantress now had the amulet pressed against the girl's mask--against her _wound_ \--and her eyes were crazed. "Do you know what this is?" she asked, her voice high, threatening. " _Do you?_ I bet you do. I'll make you _eat_ it, I will--"

“So,” Loki began conversationally, staring up over their heads as if a lovely view lay before him instead of a wall of rock. “You said one month has passed since we left. How long has it been since the Chitari invasion of Midgard?”

His distraction worked. Amora let go of the girl, letting her fall to the floor by their feet. A wicked grin appeared on her face. “You mean your pathetic attempt to take the human realm for your own? Eleven months.”

“Mmm.”

_So_ , he had been trapped in Odin’s cell for almost a year! _Too long_ , his mind thought furiously. _Too long_. He forced his heart rate to slow.

“And what is the significance of this amulet?” he asked evenly. “Clearly, it is magical.”

_That grin_. Loki wished he could tell her how unbecoming it made her look. Wordlessly, she backed up a few paces then let go of the amulet. Instead of falling to the ground, it stayed hanging in the air before her. She closed her eyes and stretched out her arms so that her hands were hovering on either side of the large jewel. She seemed to hesitate for just a second--steeling herself, perhaps? Loki wondered--before her shoulders and chest rose in a large breath. Then her mouth opened and she began to chant.

_“Nos of heart dan kys_   
_Bearre of rookc dan filla_   
_Urc’des ni daeth sa ni flie_   
_Oyru osrrow not oem’cpar…”_

The amulet began to emit an eerie red light and Loki’s eyebrows rose. Amora was speaking in a Second Tongue. They were ancient words of command, unpronounceable to most mortals and all but lost to but a few gifted sorcerers, and they were very powerful indeed. Of course Loki knew several Second Tongues but he could not place this one. Where had the Enchantress obtained it? He could never forget how his tongue had twisted to form the words on its own accord, and as he watched the Enchantress chant, he suppressed a shudder. Loki could feel an unusual presence start to fill the room, and even though he was familiar with old magics such as these, the presence unnerved him. His body tensed automatically, gathering and holding the energy that had started coursing through him in case he needed to act. What could the Enchantress be conjuring?

Her voice was rising--

_“Oepn oyru heart f’or oy’ru liekrl is e’her....”_

Her hands were shaking--

_“Nad nibash...”_

Nibash--Loki recognized that word: “banish.” She was chanting a spell of banishment. But for whom? And why?

_Wait--_

_“...tehm to all y’het faer!”_

There was a blinding flash of red light and a cry of exertion from Amora. Immediately, Loki doubled over and raised his arm, shielding his eyes from the light and his face from a burst of wind that had spread from the center of the room like an invisible wave. He gasped then choked on clipped air as he felt his body freeze like it would during a transportation spell. He tried to wrestle himself free but couldn’t, and a moment later, his ears were popping, his stomach was reeling, and his peripheral vision was whizzing with changing colors and strange, blurred images. It _was_ a transportation spell! And _he_ was caught in it!

A moment later, the edges of his vision stilled but his stomach didn’t, and as the transportation spell released him, he pitched forward and found himself vomiting up a meal he had long forgotten about.

It took a few minutes for his convulsions to cease. During that time, he had come up with several... _colorful_ words he was going to hurl at the Enchantress when he saw her, but as he got up and looked around himself, the words died in his throat.

_Emptiness_. He was standing in the middle of emptiness.

Below him was ground and above him was sky, but that didn’t matter.

It was a wasteland. 

There were no trees or greenery of any kind and no mountains or hills. There was only dry, hard-packed earth, and as he surveyed the landscape, turning slowly on his heel, little eddies of dust swirled around his feet and cape. The air... it felt like there wasn’t _any_ air but somehow he could still breathe comfortably, and he could hear no sound except for the shuffling ones he made with his feet. He made another pass around, his eyes straining for something to identify. There were no rivers or oceans, no valleys or roads. No... tribal warlords fighting over scraps of land or wide, staring eyes that wouldn't leave him alone. There was just... nothing. Unconsciously, his heart rate rose. In response, his breath quickened until he could hear it as well, but the sound was meager compared to the horrible, deafening _silence_. The sky above was no less reassuring, for it was just as colorless and empty as the ground. He could see for miles in all directions, and all he saw was a dead sky reflecting a dead earth.

He called the Enchantress’ name, his voice sounding tinny and pinched. There was no answer.

He tried again. And again. He screamed her name, then screamed again as he tried for the umpteeth time to summon his magic. Nothing.

And no one.

He began walking. He _had_ to move, for even though there weren’t any walls around him, he felt as if an unseen force was pressing in on him from all sides. At first it was an alien feeling, unnerving and indeterminate. But as he kept walking, not knowing which direction he was going in, the intruding presence-- _the nothingness_ \--became known, and he realized....

He was alone.

He kept walking. If there was a way _into_ this wasteland, he reasoned, there was a way _out_ of it. Surely, he would come upon it: a hidden doorway perhaps, some barricade he would have to cross, maybe a riddle he would have to solve or spell words he would have to chant, runes he would have to carve, a blood tithe he would have to give, birds overhead, trees, grass, mountains, cities, noises, voices, _people--_

As he walked, he closed his eyes.

A touch. Hands other than his. A caress, gentle fingers cradling his head, lifting his chin. An embrace. A real one. How long had it been?

A fist, to his nose, his jaw, his stomach--he didn’t care. Anything.

A voice, other than his own. Sweet words, cruel words, it didn’t matter.

He walked and walked, and although he saw nothing, he felt it all.

Time passed. Even though he couldn’t see time passing, for some cruel reason, he could still feel it. It was as if there really _was_ a sun and a moon in this cursed place, hiding just behind an impenetrable colorless veil. He could feel every hour, every minute, and soon the minutes and hours were running together to form days, and the days were forming months, and he kept walking.

At first he had tried to keep his mind active and alert. He would count his steps and scratch marks upon the ground as he passed. He would never come upon the marks again. He started reciting spells he had memorized, softly at first, then at the top of his lungs for there was no one around to quiet him. He sang songs, everything from raucous sea shanties to his mother's lullabies. He recited poems and sonnets, haikus and riddles, _anything_. Eventually, though, Loki's voice trailed off into a murmur. Then he stopped speaking altogether and simply... walked.

And as he walked, two things seemed to chase him: the vacuum-like isolation and the endless turnings of his mind. Thoughts, memories, silence, thoughts, memories, silence--they just wouldn't leave him alone. So, to try and calm himself, he found himself trying to rationalize. It was a blessing, he declared to the wasteland. Who needed people when he was the god of his own mind, creating and destroying worlds with every new breath? Isn't this what he had always wanted, to be free of all the things, the people, that annoyed him? Hadn't he often found comfort in isolation, in retreating to the calm and silent safehouses that his mind and his scholarly pursuits provided? _Yes, yes, of course_ , he thought, skipping a bit. _A horse is a horse, of course, of course._ He thought and thought and walked and walked, but somewhere along the way, his thoughts and memories converged until only one feeling, one belief, remained: _nothing and no one. Nothing and no one. Nothing and no one... Nothing and no one. Nothing and... no one..._

The loneliness wasn’t new to him. In fact, it was familiar.

And yet...

Fifty-seven years had passed before Loki felt a transportation spell finally plant his feet and pin his arms to his sides. For an Asgardian such as himself, fifty-seven years wasn’t really that long of a time.

Not a long time at all...


	6. Trust Me, I Cannot Tell A Lie

_“What did you see?”_

What, what was that? A... sound? It hurt his ears.

_"Answer me."_

Those words, he had heard them before. He had _said_ them before. He--

He was retching and it was painful. When had he even eaten last?

 _"If you're_ quite _through_..."

Annoyed. The voice was annoyed. And familiar.

Uncomfortably familiar. _Horridly_ familiar.

_That..._

_Witch..._

It took a moment, but Loki found his voice again, and he hated the sound of it.

"What... did you do?" he growled, his eyes downcast and blurry.

 _"What. Did. You. See?"_ was the witch’s answer.

Feelings were stirring, familiar ones. Loki clenched his teeth and unsteadily rose to his feet. He looked around. And _remembered_. The cave, _his_ cave. His safehouse. There, his stone throne. And the Enchantress, all eager, wide-eyed beauty. And the girl--Lira--standing nearby, masked and silent and still. Both... just as he had left them. His mind was coming alive again, the thoughts and memories coming faster now, and he started to tremble.

“H-how long… was I gone?” he gritted out. He had to ask it.

The Enchantress looked like she wanted to wave his question away with a flippant hand, but she answered: “A few minutes.”

A few…

The emotions that flooded his chest were enough to make him retch again, but he didn't. Instead, his hand flattened into a hard line, and he swung it forward. Just like his vocal chords, his arm muscles were leaden from the years of disuse. Still, the Enchantress was so flush with blind curiosity that the back of his hand would’ve met her face had Lira not stopped him, easily, but firmly, with one hand around his wrist. Loki glared wildly at the girl, and the sudden flare of anger he felt almost burned away the hollowness in his soul-- _almost_. _Why do you protect the witch?_ he wanted to scream at her. Suddenly, the pressure on his wrist increased, cutting like a vice, and Lira’s head tilted slightly as if in warning. Like she had heard his thoughts. They stared at one another, and Loki remembered her power, the way it would burst forth from her fingers like a caged animal suddenly set free. He remembered Odin's vault and how he had felt upon exiting it--like an animal himself. Rage. Destroy. Kill, until there was nothing left. Nothing... and n-no o-one...

He couldn’t take it anymore. When Lira released her hold, he collapsed onto the floor, overcome with weariness.

“I need… to rest,” he managed to gasp out. Already his mind was retracting, seeking shelter from a hailstorm of thoughts, but the Enchantress was determined to have her answer. Looming over him, she repeated herself, her words now laced with a hint of warning. _“What did you see?”_

Slowly, Loki looked up at her. _I see you without a face, writhing in pain, in agony. I see a pool of blood on the ground and you in the middle of it. This is the death I owe you, and you will feel the horror of it until the end times have come and gone. This, I promise you, is your fate._

“There was nothing there,” Loki replied evenly. “A barren desert, no life of any kind. Time did not pass like it does here. I was there for fifty-seven years, and all that time, I did not come across any thing or anyone. I did not need to eat, nor did I seem to age. It was a prison, inescapable and hopeless. A fate worse than death.”

He had seen the Enchantress smile many times. Catlike, elated, cruel--he had seen them all. But nothing compared to the sinister grin she fixed him with now, and suddenly he knew--

Here was a woman who could destroy kingdoms--no-- _worlds._

All this time and he had not known.

_How could he have not known?_

****

Loki's eyes fluttered open. He was lying on his back on something soft and familiar. The softness seemed to cradle his body, forming an indent as if he had laid there a thousand times before. His eyesight was still blurred from sleep, but after a few rapid blinks (and a few deep breaths), he finally spied a dark green canopy above him. As the rest of his surroundings came into focus, he knew where he was immediately: in his bed, the one in his secret hideaway that he had magicked out of the rock. Similar to his mock throne room, this room had been hewn out of the mountain ages before Loki had come to inhabit it. He didn’t remember stumbling into his bedroom, but regardless, he was grateful. As this bed was an exact replica of his bed in the palace, Loki _had_ laid in it many times before, and that feeling seemed to wrap itself around him, soothing him back to sleep-- _except_ \--

He wasn't alone. There was someone in the bed with him.

"Li--" he began.

"Shhh, relax."

It was the Enchantress. He could feel her warm body next to him, pressing into his side. Out of the flickering light, a slender arm with pointed, red-colored fingernails snaked its way over his chest as she cooed into his ear: "You said you needed to rest. I can help you with that."

Angrily, he tried to jerk away but couldn’t, as if his muscles had forgotten to wake up along with his mind. But his nerve endings were certainly awake, for every place that the Enchantress touched seemed to be amplified tenfold, and he felt his body responding to it despite his distaste. Even worse, his consciousness seemed determined to go back to sleep, and as his eyelids began to droop, he started to panic. She would _not_ have her way with him, he swore. Not against his will!

Though he barely moved, the Enchantress must have recognized his agitation. Swiftly, she swung herself on top of him and leaned down closer, her hand now caressing his face. “Shhh, shhhh. I can make the pain go away. Remember?”

It had been so long since he had been touched. _So many years_. Her hands were like his deliverance, and her words a herald’s song in his ears.

But no, it was _her_ , and he abhorred her, so he barred his teeth, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of her body pressed against his. He meant to tell her to stop, but all he could do was gasp out her name. This only seemed to encourage her.

“Yes, that’s it,” she whispered, her eyes glowing green in the dark. “Just let go…”

It was madness. He didn’t desire her, he _didn’t_ , he knew it, but… Maybe he did. Her touch was intoxicating--she knew just where he liked it. Surely, she was using a spell on him. She had to be, she-- Memories of them together now sprung up in his mind, and he suddenly had the desire to tear off her clothes. To see that beautiful, milky skin; to feel it against his fingertips, to explore it. To explore _her_.

 _Just let go_... Her voice became a little voice inside of him, whispering. Urging. _The pain will go away. Just let her in_...

He couldn’t fight anymore. His emotions were twisting inside him like ravenous, green snakes. Green, like the Enchantress’s clothes, like her eyes, like his bed. Like _his_ clothes, like _his_ eyes, like the fire that used to burn within him. He would feel that comforting fire again. He knew it. But until then, the burning that he felt now would have to do.

He let her in.

Immediately, her magic slammed into him. He could feel it washing over him, snaking its way through every pore.

And just like he remembered, it was the most wondrous sensation. His feelings of fatigue disappeared as arousal heightened his every sense. He felt like he had as a teenager--hungry for her mouth, her body, every inch--and it was so much that it _hurt_ , but Loki didn't care. It thrilled him, and it comforted him. The pain. The pleasure. Weren’t those feelings always so close together?

Her hand was now under the covers, travelling downwards, and as she brushed his erection, Loki reached up and took her face in his hands. He kissed her and she returned the kiss, her ferocity almost matching his. Soon their clothes were off, and now he was on top of her, kissing and running his hands all over, his eyes shut tight. He slid his tongue around her nipples, first the one, then the other, enjoying the sounds that she made in response. And when his mouth and his hands had had their fill, he moved until he was between her legs--only then did his eyes open, and her gaze found his. The anticipation in her expression roused him even more, and his stare didn’t falter as he licked and sucked on her most sensitive spot. Even as she came and then came again, he was there wanting more. He was inside her and around her and she around him, the balm soothing his every pain. Like an animal with nature in control, his mind filled with nothing but their combined pleasure. He was unrelenting--insatiable--until the glowing light from the Enchantress’ magic seemed to dim and his movements, and his heartbeat, finally slowed.

He collapsed back onto the bed and Amora followed. They laid there, breathing heavily. Loki sighed, savoring the feeling of his climax as it continued to ripple through him, intensified by the Enchantress’ spell. As the animal instincts faded and his mind returned, he couldn’t help but smirk into the darkness.

Despite how he hated her, she had her uses.

Amora rolled to her side and placed a hand upon his chest. “Feel better?” she asked, her usual bravado back once more.

For a long moment, Loki said nothing. Then, his voice low--

“I do not appreciate you enchanting me against my will.”

Amora snorted. “Against your will? You, more than anyone else, knows that my magic only works if you _let_ it.”

When he didn’t respond, she drawled on, circling his chest lazily with her finger, “I bet you missed this, didn't you? Look what we could have been doing all this time… if you hadn't been so _desperately_ chasing revenge on Odin.”

Odin. Oh yes, he remembered now. _His plan_. Feeling bold, he decided to take a chance.

“As if you haven’t been ‘chasing revenge’ on Thor, all this time?” His tone was mocking, just like hers, but he swung his arm around her head, letting her settle against his side more comfortably. When she did not answer, he knew that his gamble had been correct. Pleased, he let himself relax further into the bed, and after a moment, he felt her relax against him. The silence bloomed between them, but he made sure to sigh and shift contentedly for time to time, wordlessly encouraging their quiet to be a comfortable one. Finally, just like he had predicted, she spoke.

"I did love you, you know."

This admission was _not_ what he expected, but he went with it.

"You did not,” he countered, snorting softly. “You loved Thor, like everyone else. Lucky for you, my shape-changing ability manifested itself early."

The Enchantress was silent and Loki could feel her body tense. With practiced ease, he drew her closer to him. Lazily, as if unconsciously, he started to caress her arm. It was working; he could feel her smile in the dark. "Well, I certainly did not _hate_ you like everyone else."

Surprisingly, Loki found himself smiling, too. “Which is why we’re here now,” he said dryly. After a thoughtful pause, he made a show of starting to speak, then stalling himself, as if there was a question he dreaded to ask. But, of course, he finally asked it.

"Do you still love him?"

"Do _you_?" she retorted, and this time, his reaction was a real one. He bristled, twitching uncomfortably, and remained silent. This wouldn’t do, he thought. He was distracted now and thoughts of his strategy were slipping from his grasp. But he needn't have worried; the Enchantress was back to tracing a pattern on his chest as if trying to calm _him_ this time.

“You know,” she said, deftly changing the subject, “you’ve resisted me much longer in the past.”

“You try spending fifty-seven years without contact from anyone, friend or foe."

He had expected her to throw him one of her sarcastic replies, but she stayed quiet. Odd, Loki thought. The Enchantress usually didn’t strike him as someone who pondered things deeply, or for long.

She sighed, softly. Then, in a voice that was so unlike her, Loki’s brain struggled to understand it, she said, "Sometimes, it feels like I already have."

And with that, she got out of his bed and left.

*****

It had always been easy to let time slip away from him in his stone hideaway. The lack of windows and the buildup of warmth from the torches seemed to encourage Loki’s secluded nature. But he wasn't alone this time, and even with the Enchantress’ _frequent_ attempts at keeping him content, he still couldn't relax. For he still craved revenge. On Odin. On Thor. On the Avengers. On _everyone_.

A feeling like that just doesn’t go away with pleasing distractions.

But he hadn’t been useless or lazy (and really, when was he ever?). Because of his observant eye and manipulations over Amora, his could tell his plan was growing clearer every day. Soon, a month had passed and there were just a few puzzle pieces left...

He had just exited his bedroom (as well as the Enchantress) and was walking casually down the stone hallway, when he saw her. The god-killer.

Normally she was all but invisible, staying silently in the shadows that the torchlight couldn’t reach. But as he stopped in front of his throne room, he could see her eyes glinting at him from across the room. Like a cat, he mused. Was this killing machine completely feral, or....?

Feigning indifference, Loki stepped into the room. He walked to his stone throne and sat himself upon it with ease. He stretched his legs out, sighing contentedly. Let her think that he was just stroking his ego by languishing upon his false throne (and of course, that was true-- _in part_ ). Just when it looked like he was going to sink into some elaborate daydream, he inhaled and spoke aloud in his mind.

_< Lira.>_

Immediately, her eyes flew up to his but then quickly darted away. Loki’s smile was smug as he approached her.

 _< So you _can _read minds. >_

He stopped right in front of her, but her gaze remained fixed on the cavern wall behind them. Loki could tell that she was trying hard to act as if she hadn’t actually heard him.

_< Look at me.>_

He wasn’t expecting her to react at all to his demand, so when her eyes snapped up to his, he almost took a step back in surprise.

_< YOU'RE NOT MY MASTER.>_

His senses reeled and he doubled over, hands over his ears. The voice that rang in his head was overwhelming. It wasn’t just the volume; there was something horrible and strange about the voice. In each word he could hear a tinge of femininity, but it was all but drowned out by a monstrous-sounding echo that seemed to seek out every crevice in his mind. He felt something wet begin to drip out of his nose and knew immediately what it was: _blood_. His eyes slammed shut and he shuddered, his mind and body doing all they could to try and will the sound away. If he and this, this-- _demon_ \--had had a connection back in Vanaheim, it was gone. Gone and never coming back.

When the awful voice finally dispersed, Loki looked down at the girl and was rewarded with a stare that was just as menacing as her voice. He grimaced, first at her, then at himself when he realized that the reply he sent her was far less confident than he had intended.

_< Your master ordered you to obey me, remember?>_

His breath caught as he waited for her response. When it came, the alien voice was like a blow to his knees, and he sank to the floor in front of her, hands over his ears once more.

_< YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE IT.>_

“D-done what?” he managed to gasp out. Her voice was like claws raking inside his head.

_< BACK IN VANAHEIM. IN THE WOODS OUTSIDE OF THE WITCH’S COTTAGE.>_

“Aarrrgghh!” He was on his back now, tears in his eyes. “I can’t--your voice--”

Abruptly, the pain in his head ceased, but the intruding presence remained. He could almost feel it moving around in there, like it was sifting through his memories. But before he could react, an image began forming rapidly behind his eyes. It was when they had faced each other back in the Vanaheim woods, like Lira had said, only this time seen from her perspective. And Loki, he was descending upon her and… ripping the mask off of her face. The movement reminded him of what the Enchantress had done to her, and Loki's heart twinged uncomfortably. He hadn’t realized that he had been so vicious. But as he felt the blood drip from his nose, he bristled angrily. Who was _she_ to talk about viciousness when she could _wound so_ with merely her voice? Luckily, his wits were still with him, and he stopped himself from opening his mouth and ruining his plan right there. Instead, he drew his face up into an anguished frown.

“I’m sorry," he hurried to say. "I… I didn’t know… wasn't thinking...”

It worked. The vision was gone and his mind was his own once more. Even so, a somewhat sick feeling in his chest remained. What was wrong with him? He shook his head to clear it.

Slowly, he sat up and was greeted with the side of her face. She was back to ignoring him, but this time, the look in her eyes was not one of well-practiced avoidance. It was... hollow.

“Let me make it up to you," he implored, emotion tinging his voice. "I will free you.”

The silence went on for so long, Loki began to wonder if he had been imagining the whole exchange. But finally--

_< You can't.>_

The voice was small, the destructive timbre gone. Loki almost thought he heard a slight sob at the end of the words, and the uneasiness that shot through him nearly cracked his facade. Frantically, he searched for her eyes. For his plan to work, he needed her trust.

 _< I _can _. But you have to help me. What is Amora using to control you? A spell? A talisman of some kind? Tell me._ Please _. >_

Still, she did not look at him, and finally Loki got up with an unhappy sigh and turned to leave. But he had only taken a step before a new image began forming in his mind's eye: _snakes_. Hundreds of bright green snakes were slithering over his body, wrapping themselves around his arms and legs. Hissing sounds filled his ears, and he could almost _feel_ the snakes' smooth, muscular bodies travel over him. Just as one began wrapping itself around his neck, the image disappeared.

Loki did not move. He just stood there, perfectly still, his back to the girl. Then he began to walk away, but not before giving her one of his own subtle nods. He was positive that she had understood. How could she have not? For surely she had mastered the unspoken language born from hope and pain that all dark, captive creatures knew.

_I received your message, and although I do not understand it yet, I will. I promise._

_Oh yes I will_ , he mused, and despite all that had just happened, his heart thrummed excitedly. He had a new riddle to solve. But it was more than that, and he couldn't help but smile wickedly to himself as he left the room. _I will free you_ , he had said. And it had been one of the easiest lies he had ever told.


	7. A Flick Of The Wrist

“Stop it, you’re doing it wrong.”

The Enchantress dropped her hands and huffed in annoyance. “Well, _you’re_ not showing me how to do it right!”

“I _have_ been, you’re just not getting it.” Loki moved until they were shoulder to shoulder. “You just need to flick your wrist.”

“It’s not working,” she whined.

“You’re not doing it right--”

“I _am_ doing it right!”

“No, you’re _not_. You sort of have to twist your hand, like this...”

Silence. And then--

“This is stupid.”

“ _Really_ , Amora.”

“You’re a horrible teacher.”

“And you, a petulant, self-absorbed student!”

“ _Me?_ Self-absorbed? _You_ should talk--”

“I have been, but you haven’t been listening.”

“Gah! Do you ever _hear_ yourself--”

“Yes, all the time. Unlike you. Do you even have a mind or do your words simply bypass your brain and fall straight from your mouth, like water from a Kappa’s head?”

“Grrrrrrr!”

The half-formed spellights disappeared from the air as Amora stalked angrily out of the room. Loki ran after her, calling out the door, “Another reason why you’re a horrible student. You give up too easily!”

There wasn’t an answer and he sighed, knowing that he was right: The Enchantress always hated any sort of work that didn’t come naturally to her.

Something prickled in his mind and he turned. His eyes roamed the walls of the cavern until he found the source: Lira, perched on her heels against the rock wall like she was ready to spring into action upon command. He cocked his head to the side like a bird then moved towards the stone chair that stood between them and seated himself.

“You found that funny?”

When she didn’t reply, he continued. “I bet you savor any opportunity to find humor at your master’s expense.”

Silence.

Loki’s mouth quirked up at the corner and his eyebrow raised. “Or were you laughing at me?”

She wasn’t avoiding his eyes now; she was staring straight at him, her expression more alive than he’d seen in the past few weeks. Another beat passed. Then another. Unconsciously, he thrummed his fingers on the throne’s armrests, feeling excited.  He had been wanting to engage her again for weeks now, and this was the first time the Enchantress wasn’t around to witness it.

There was a tickling sensation in his mind again. Then, like a slow puff of smoke, a whisper.

_< Why would I do that? Are you funny?>_

The voice was more feminine this time, the tone incredibly dry. Loki’s smirk grew wider.

“Maybe you haven’t been around to hear my more… humorous exchanges. But there’ll be plenty of time for that.”

_< I’m surprised you and my master have had time to talk at all.>_

Moans filled up his head and Loki blinked, startled. Then he grinned.

Okay, she was older than he thought. And more spirited.

_< I can understand your disapproval, but I assure you that all my actions with your master are solely part of my plan to free you.>_

She didn’t react, and Loki’s mind seemed to strain for any hint of a thought that was not his own.

_< Tell me, where do you come from? I want to know everything.>_

It was no use. He could tell that she was reverting stubbornly back to her inscrutable self. He had always considered himself to be particularly lucky, and so, without even hesitating to think, he decided to advance his plan by a considerable amount.

_< I’m sorry for what she did to you.>_

Silence, as large as the mountains surrounding them. Loki got up, and in the most earnest way he could, he thought to her:

 _< I _will _free you from the Enchantress. I promise. >_

And without even waiting for a reaction, he left to go find Amora.

****

His secret hideaway wasn’t very large (and he knew she wouldn't dare leave) so he found her quickly. She was lying on her stomach atop the plush blankets of his bed. Her bare feet were slowly kicking the air, and she was making a show of filing her nails and ignoring him. It was then when he saw it.

A flash of silver on her hand.

The Enchantress usually wore several pieces of jewelry on herself: large rubies on her ears, a gaudy golden bangle on her wrist, a talisman hidden in her corset that could amplify her powers at her request, several thin rings around her toes, a delicate silver chain around her ankle. But this he had _never_ spied before. And was he imagining it or did this ring look like the coil of a snake around her finger? He leaned against the side of the doorway and crossed his arms.

“Still sulking?” he teased.

She continued to ignore him, doing a far worse job at hiding her emotions than Lira did. The mighty Enchantress, all boldness and swagger, was upset.

“Do you want to learn cantrips or not?”

“Not.”

“Amora…”

Her facade fell and she glared at him. “What am I, a pickpocket? A lowly street urchin doing magic tricks for coin? I am no trickster,” she snapped. “That's you.”

“You’re right. There’s only room in this cavern for one _well-rounded sorcerer_ ”--Smoothly he slid next to her and popped a kiss on her cheek--“and that’s _you_.”

As he reached to squeeze her chest, she batted him away, but he could tell that she was charmed. Feeling emboldened, he playfully grabbed at her hands and his finger brushed against the ring.

He had been too bold. She jerked then snatched her hand back, looking at him suspiciously. Inwardly, Loki cursed his foolishness. It was obvious now that the ring was something that a person could only See if he were looking for it.

The Enchantress’ mouth fell open accusingly, but before she could speak he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her.

She was tense but he persisted, and soon her arms we traveling around his body and his around hers. Whether by magic or not, Amora had a way of kissing that thrilled him: tender yet merciless, sweet but with a biting sting of danger. It was intoxicating. And Loki was glad that he had learned of it at an early age. (As had his future lovers, _surely_.)

Despite the eagerness of his plan, he thought, he might as well enjoy himself.

She was tugging at his clothes, releasing the layers one by one with experienced ease. Hers came off much quicker than his...

They had been at it for some time before Loki had a sudden zing of inspiration.

“Say my name.” he said. They were pressed against the wall and her legs were around his waist. With their faces so close to each other, he saw her raise an eyebrow at him in mild confusion. She let out a low moan before responding.

“ _Unnfff_. Which one?”

“You know which one,” he whispered, his voice tinged with wickedness and arousal.

At this, she seemed to smile at him before uttering a small gasp as he gave her a particularly eager thrust. When she didn’t say anything, his movements slowed, willing--no-- _motivating_ her to play along. And it worked.

“Trickster...”

Her eyes were slitted up towards his, and he could tell that she was trying to gauge his reaction. Oh no, no, no, this would not do, Loki thought.

“Wrong.” Instead of slowing down further, he began to speed up, smiling widely to himself as she gasped and moaned in surprise. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth opened and gasped like a swimmer coming up for air. She was enjoying this game, Loki could tell. And, to his even greater delight, had decided to be just as devious.

“Brother of-of… Thor....”

He sighed. She would have to be punished now. Swiftly, he turned her around and entered her from behind. Her moans became cries (it was her favorite position), and Loki could tell that she was approaching the brink. His fingers gripped her shoulders then slid down around her waist, pulling her against him with abandon. He was almost there himself but aggressively fought off the feeling. He needed an answer, after all.

“L-Loki…” she gasped out.

Her leaned over her and his whisper in her ear was an irresistible command. “Louder.”

“L-L--ah..!” Her response was more gasp than speech, and Loki was not pleased. He slammed himself against her. “ _Louder_.”

She was moaning heavily now, caught up in her pleasure, and Loki wondered distractedly (and with a little disappointment) if she had abandoned their game.

“LOKI!” she said loudly, between breaths.

_Ah, yes..._

“SAY IT,” he commanded, all but shoving her against him.

He could feel her start to convulse around his length and he smiled as a last evil thought entered his mind. Immediately, he bit his lip--hard--and his hands around her waist dug into her skin as he steeled himself.

And against all instinct--with his eyes almost rolling into the back of his head and his breath caught in his throat--he… stopped.

The Enchantress’ groans cut off abruptly. A moment passed where nothing was heard but the sounds of their labored breathing, but then--

“You...bastard.”

Swiftly, he straightened up, taking her body with him. He was still inside her and almost quivering with anticipation for her annoyance had inflamed him more. As his hands caressed her breasts (as if in apology), he drew close to her ear again. “Say it,” he whispered dangerously. “Again.”

“Son of Odin!” she spat angrily at him, trying to twist away, but he only grinned and thrust into her once-- _deeply_. She squeaked in surprise then growled at him.

“Wrong answer.” His voice was ominous as he thrust into her again, powerfully, as punishment.

Her moan was louder this time, and he could tell that her willpower was dissolving. Soon...

“ _Say it_ ,” he commanded again and was rewarded with an instant, but still slightly aggrieved reply.

“ _Loki! Loki, you son of a bitch!_ ”

He grinned and started moving anew. This was it, he thought, no more games. He couldn’t draw out her orgasm (or his) any longer. He pushed her shoulders back down, grabbed her hips, and started thrusting again. Her exasperation seemed to fall away as she started moaning and shuddering anew.

“SAY IT!” he demanded, one last time.

She didn’t just say it, she screamed it and Loki couldn’t hold himself back any longer--He came, spectacularly, the feeling shooting through him like an electric shock. The Enchantress was still moaning below him, but not in the way that he wanted, so he continued thrusting into her, even when his pleasure turned to slight twinges of aching sensitivity.

But he liked that feeling, too.

With gritted teeth, he continued until he could feel Amora’s climax ripple around him, and he focused on her voice as it screamed his name over and over. It was intoxicating and confusing, this pleasure-tinged pain. And yet, oddly soothing.

This was a tryst he would always remember.

They collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily and sighing. Even without the use of Amora’s magic, he felt elated, in raptures. He hoped Amora felt the same way, too, and he wouldn’t have doubted it, if not for Amora’s immediate jump out of bed. She was still flushed with their exploits, but she placed her hands on her hips and glared at him a moment before starting to gather her clothes. “That wasn’t funny or clever or anything,” she said she called mockingly over her shoulder. She turned her back to him once more as she began to tug her dress over her head. Another man might have grown apprehensive at this display, but Loki was not just any man. He knew her.

Loki swung his legs over the side of the bed and propped himself up on his elbows, admiring her naked backside in the torchlight with obvious enjoyment.

“Yes it was,” he taunted.

“No it wasn't.”

“You enjoyed it.”

She paused, seeming to struggle to come up with an answer. Then she stuck out her tongue at him and turned, walking swiftly out of the room with her nose held playfully high and her undergarments in her hands. Loki laughed as he laid back unto the bed contentedly. Ring? Who cared! It was like they were seventeen again, both teasing, arguing, and finding pleasure in each other’s company. Would it all end like it did the last time? Distractedly, Loki shook his head. Now was not the time to think about such things. And with that, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

****

Loki, surrounded by books, was doing his favorite--or, rather, _second_ favorite thing to do: _research_. When he was younger, he would read several books at the same time, typically spreading them all out on the floor around him and occasionally using a spell to speed up his reading. Without his magic, he couldn’t do that now, but it didn’t matter. With each turn of the page, his body seemed to sigh, as if this was its most natural--second natural--state. For the umpteenth time, Loki thanked the Enchantress’ choice to use his old hideout as her own.

But, despite his body’s comfort, his mind was still perturbed. In all of his most trusted spellbooks, he hadn’t found one mention of the god-killer or the ring that controlled her. More and more he seemed to believe what the Enchantress had told him.

In exasperation, he opened his mind.

_< Lira.>_

Somewhere far off, he felt something uncurl.

_< Yes?>_

So Lira could read his mind even through thick walls of rock. He wasn’t surprised.

_< I know about the ring.>_

_< Took you long enough. Is my master really that distracting?>_

Loki ignored this taunt. _< What sort of magic guards it? I haven’t found anything about it in my books.>_

She didn’t answer. Instead, a blackness filled his mind, terrifying and wild. But Loki didn’t flinch.

_< Black magic. Of course. But how do I break it?>_

The god-killer seemed to scoff at him and he would have glared at her if she were there. She probably thought him green and incapable. Without the connection to his magic, there were limits to what he could do. What he could _See_.

The blackness in his mind was retreating, but the ominous whisper that remained was Lira’s.

_< What do all dark spells do?>_

_Expect something in return_ , he thought. He had the answer now. He knew what he had to do. And he didn’t like it one bit.

****

_“It’s abhorrent. No son of mine is going to parade around the palace with… with breasts and high heels! The delegates from Vanaheim are coming in two weeks! I have a duty to uphold--”_

_“You have a duty to your son, Odin.”_

_“As. Does. He.”_

_“Hey Loki, want me to braid your hair? I know how much you like looking_ pretty _.”_

_“Really, Loki, must you be so strange? You know Father doesn’t like it…”_

_And you didn’t like it much either, Thor_ , Loki remarked to himself as his reflection stared solemnly back at him. In the dim light, his appearance looked like it always did, polished, regal. _Strong_. Could he do this?

Loki remembered when he used to enjoy looking at himself in mirrors. As an inquisitive child drawn to beautiful things, he couldn’t help but admire the contrast between his soft, pale skin and shining, dark hair. His large green eyes and sharp cheekbones. His long, spindly fingers but delicate touch. He was soft and hard all at once, and the mixture was enchanting. Maybe that’s why all this had happened to him--he had grown too vain.

But it hadn’t been just _himself_ that he marveled. Others, too, frequently caught his youthful gaze. Sif was particularly lovely to look at, and he got to know her features well as she pinned him again and again on the training room floor, her dark hair falling over him like a curtain, her bright eyes reveling in her triumph. Even Fandral caught his eye every now and again, his boyish good-looks tinged with just enough prettiness to be appealing. Plus, he had a roguish charm about him, and Loki found his young self occasionally wondering what such a quick-witted tongue would taste like.

Loki sighed, deep and low. He had to do this. He _had_ to. There was no use in prolonging it any further.

Loki’s breath stilled, caught behind his teeth. He closed his outward eyes, and a minute later, his _inward_ ones opened. It had been several months now since he had felt for what was left of his magic, and the feeling made him shiver. But he persisted, sifting through the faintly glowing embers, and soon a massive library rose out of the mists of his mind. Recognizing it, he relaxed slightly.

It shouldn’t have been surprising to anyone that Loki kept a meticulous order to the many pieces of mystical knowledge that filled his mind. Visualization was an important fundamental of most magics, and his repeated study of it as a child served him well in this regard: At age ten, he created a memory place in his mind where he could store his ever-growing number of spells. It hadn’t taken him long to set up his memory place, but it _had_ taken him a bit of time deciding on what it would be. Loki had mulled over several of his favorite places in and around the palace, comparing them against each other. The hiding place above his father’s throne room that allowed him to spy on guests and listen in on the All-father’s dealings. The secret spot on the third floor that for whatever reason, allowed him to float upside down on the ceiling (he particularly enjoyed reading books this way). The clearing in the royal forest that, despite the weather, always had patches on the ground that were warm with sunlight, perfect for lazing in. His mother’s personal chambers. The library. Ah, yes, the library.

At first, Loki had visualized the palace’s actual library. Soon, he knew he wanted something different: his _dream_ library. Double--no-- _triple_ the size of the real one, with none of the cold, gleaming facade of the palace. Instead, there were rows upon rows of wooden bookcases. Every room was illuminated despite the rich, dark brown decor. The ceilings were high, but against the natural state of things, a feeling of hominess permeated through to every corner and crevice. Books were enchanted to sort themselves and float down to his hand on command. There was a restricted section that was only accessible after solving a riddle because he thought himself clever. His more risqué collection was stationed below a talking portrait of his parents because he was a growing boy and stealing books without being seen excited him.

Even though his memory place included many (often silly) childhood fantasies, Loki changed very little of it as the years went by. Visualization worked better the more long-lasting the memory. (Plus, the evidence of his childhood desires amused him.). Most of the time, Loki found that he only needed to add to his library, not subtract from it.

And today, Loki knew he needed to go to a place that was certainly not there at the library’s creation: the basement.

Cold, dark, and dimly lit, the basement was simply a long, narrow hallway with doors on either side that led into small windowless rooms. Loki’s feet carried him slowly towards a door near the end of the hall. He wished he could say that tucking this spell away in his memory place had alleviated its hold on his mind, but that would be a lie. This spell and the memories it was attached to were always there, lurking under the surface of his skin. _Especially_ when he looked in mirrors.

Loki reached the door. Went in. A piece of parchment lay on a table. He brushed it with his hand. Felt the magic swirl around his fingertips. A flick of his fingers and the magic was in the air, sparkling like fireflies. The magic disappeared. A mirror, floating in its place. His reflection. One last look. Then a smash--

He had broken the mirror with his fist.

The spell was gone.

Slowly, his outward eyes opened. He looked again at his reflection. An almost completely different man stared back at him.

Oh, his skin was the same, and his eyes, and his hair. But something was… missing. His posture was slouched. The hollows in his face and neck were deeper and the area under his eyes was tinged a bluish-gray. The change in his clothes was the most obvious. No longer did he don the rich greens and golds and leathers of his royal regalia. Now he wore a simple colorless tunic and pants. Without the many intricate layers of overlapping fabrics, he looked thinner, more delicate. Sickly, even. Despondent. Nothing like how a prince of Asgard should look.

He licked his dry, cracked lips and winced. He lifted his neck. There were bruises there, as if he had suffered a terrible chokehold sometime in his youth. There were bruises on his wrists, too, and tiny scars around his mouth that looked like needle pricks.

What would Amora think of him now? And the mighty god-killer?

He tried to assure himself that this had to be done. After all, he knew that old, black magics were hard to please.

His sacrifice had been offered. It was time to go get the ring.

****

“By the Ancients,” Amora breathed as he walked into the throne room. “What happened to _you_?”

“With Odin’s hold on my magic, it was was growing tiresome to continue casting my Glamour.”

Amora barely heard him, she was laughing so hard. “You look like, like… a drowned badger!”

Loki didn’t react. In fact, he hardly felt anything. His eyes flicked over to Lira crouched on the dais by the Enchantress’ feet. She was eyeing him with the tiniest spark of interest, and he could tell that she knew what he’d done.

Loki’s jaw clenched. He wanted this over with.

“Amora,” he said quietly, “why am I here?”

She stopped laughing. Something changed in her face, and Loki felt like he was seeing the real Enchantress for the first time.

“Because I want what you want,” she replied just as softly. “Revenge.”

“Upon whom? Thor?”

Amora looked away. “No.”

“Then who?” He was growing impatient.

She raised her head and looked directly into his eyes. “Karnilla.”

This was a surprise.

“Why?” Loki asked, incredulously.

She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin. “I have my reasons,” she replied coolly. “And that should be enough for you.”

“It’s not,” Loki whispered, and her lips twisted into a scowl.

“I am not telling _you_ ,” she hissed, stepping to stand right in front of him, her chin in his chest. “I don’t owe you, or anyone else, an explanation.”

For a long moment, Loki matched her dark stare. Then, softly--

“Do you think I will judge you?”

This blindsided her, he could tell. He continued, and although his voice was low, there was no incredulity in it this time.

“Do you think, that after all I’ve done, I would judge _you_?”

His hands were on her shoulders; slowly, they moved to her back and he embraced her. He could feel her tremble against him, and he tightened his embrace, resting his chin on her head.

Quicker than he expected, she pulled away. Loki almost sighed audibly. Would he have to double his efforts? He was already so tired. But he always did consider himself lucky...

The Enchantress began to fiddle with her skirt, her back to him. “You know,” she began haltingly, “I was her apprentice. Some of the earliest spells I learned, she taught me. And you know that she banished me….”

“Is that why--”

“NO,” she barked, snapping her head around to glare at him. ”It wasn’t that!” When Loki silently conveyed that he was not going to interrupt her again, her eyes fell and she went on.

“One day…she… She threw a party for…the delegates from Asgard. To celebrate another year of peace between our countries. You weren’t there. I can’t remember where Frigga said you were. I _wish_ you would’ve been there...” Her voice trailed off absentmindedly. She was so tense, she almost laughed at herself. “And Karnilla, she… she made it look like it had been me--she… I was humiliated in front of…”

She didn't seem to be able to speak the name, but Loki knew.

“Thor.”

She looked at him, and her eyes held a mixture of things, but most of all, shame. She hurried on, seemingly determined to explain herself.

“It was more than just humiliation. She hated me. She wanted to punish me. It was… _horrible_ , it….”

Loki could tell that she was finding it hard to go on, and he understood. The deepest pains were often the hardest to talk about. But she did go on. She had always been strong.

“She loved him too, you see, and…”

She was struggling to find the words, her eyes pained and darting everywhere but at him. Finally, she threw her hands up, as if in surrender. “Gods, we were both so foolish!”

She was crying, huge sobs wracking her bare shoulders. Loki stared. He had never seen her like this.

A part of Loki was concerned. At one time, he _had_ loved the Enchantress, and to see her this way triggered feelings he thought he had buried a long time ago. But, unfortunately for Amora, _other_ feelings had expanded to take up a much larger place in his heart.

Here, with her guard at it's lowest point, was his chance to steal the ring.

“Have you ever wondered why I hate Odin so much? Why I… have done all that I’ve done?”

Dully, she shook her head. He took a deep breath.

"When I was thirteen," he began, "I had just mastered the art of changing my shape. It is very delicate and tricky work for a novice so I was rather pleased with myself. After I had tired of changing into every animal I could think of, I turned into a girl of my own age. I was curious, you see. And I found that I enjoyed being a female just as much as I enjoyed being male. I didn't revert back to my original form for weeks, nor did I hide myself. It never occurred to me that I needed to. I just went about my business like I normally did. Like nothing had changed."

Loki paused as a small sigh escaped him. Then he went on, his voice devoid of emotion. "But apparently, everything had changed. I was already considered an eccentric. You remember. Many people already avoided me in the halls..." He snorted softly. "You should have seen the reactions of the court. They tried to hide their disdain, but I knew. And Thor... and Father..."

His voice tightened as the memory of their reactions hit him, and he did not feel the need to elaborate further. After a long moment, his throat unclenched and he went on.

"Still, I didn't change back. Too stubborn I was, even at that young an age..."

He paused again, steeling himself. His voice grew softer. "One day while I was reading in a private nook, hidden to the world, I heard my parents walking past. They were talking about me. They didn't know I was there. ...I-I heard my father say... _disparaging_ things. I had never heard him speak of me that way. He was... angry, he didn't understand, he..." Now Loki was the one struggling to find the words. "He didn't approve," Loki said finally. "I can still hear it in my dreams, the sting of his words..." A small noise that sounded uncomfortably like a sob escaped from his lips, and he cleared his throat loudly. He was revealing too much. He tried to force his emotions under control.

"I ran. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs collapsed. I found myself in a village just outside of the capital. This village had a small tavern. Still shaken and not knowing what else to do, I went in. There, I met three men, or rather, _boys_ who _thought_ they were men. They were older than I by several years, but that mattered little. They took a liking to me. I was still in the form of a girl, you see, and they did not know who I was..."

Loki looked up. The Enchantress was staring at him, a severe crease forming her brow. He hurried on, his voice grower harsher with each word. "We went to the stables. And I... let them have their way with me. I was curious, but mostly, I was angry at Odin; I _knew_ he wouldn't approve. It was my first time and it was not, as you can imagine, _entirely pleasant_. They were… more animal than human. Coarse and rough and _reeking_ of mead...." He lifted his chin defiantly. "When they were finished, I decided to show them who I really was. I transformed in front of them, and you should've _seen_ their faces!"

Here, Loki smirked and a strange glint appeared in his eyes. After a moment, the grin faded, leaving only the crazy stare. "It proved to be my worst decision. They panicked and one of them swung a fist at me, knocking me unconscious. When I awoke, I found myself in an unfamiliar cave, changed to a rock while two Dwarves stood over me. They were sewing my lips shut." Loki said it calmly, even as he recalled the feel of the needle through his flesh. "It was a spell to make sure I could never tell _anyone_ about what had happened that night in the stables. I never even learned how those three _farmhands_ managed to pay for it... But they paid for it," he muttered darkly. "They _paid_ for it in the end..."

The Enchantress' mouth was open. She looked as stricken as Loki felt, and Loki's unhinged mind savored her reaction. It was moments such as these when the madness within actually felt _good_ \--or, at least, felt like something other than despair. The pain wasn't pain anymore, it was electricity, the need to act, to destroy. It was a gnawing maw in the middle of his chest that demanded the most horrible, base things in order to feel alive. In order to feel whole again.

It was moments such as these when Loki desired to kill.

But he didn't.

He had a story to finish.

"I never told a soul," he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. "I couldn't. That Dwarven spell was the most powerful magic I had come in contact with at the time, and it took me years to find a way to overcome it. During that period, I had several... _visits_ from those three farmhands. When they realized that the spell prevented me from even uttering their names, they grew bold. I stopped turning into a female to try to dissuade them, but... they found other ways to hurt me. And I couldn't tell anyone," he whispered, almost to himself. "I couldn't tell anyone. And no one asked me why I had changed... Why I was... different."

"No one?" the Enchantress interjected, her voice strange. "Not even Thor?"

Loki laughed and the Enchantress winced at the sound. "Thor knew least of all! No, _Brother Dear_ never saw anything past his own nose. If it didn't involve posturing or besting some poor sap in the training room, Thor didn't feel the need to care."

"But Frigga--"

"Mother knew. She was the only one who..." His voice broke and he cleared his throat again. "She knew something was wrong, but what could she do? I could say naught at all."

"And once the spell was broken, you didn't tell anyone then?"

Loki snorted. "And heap more shame upon the House of Odin? His own son, unable to defend himself against sheep herders? _No_." There was more to it, of course, but Loki could tell that the Enchantress understood. She was looking past him now, thoughts swirling behind her eyes. Absentmindedly, she brushed the back of her right hand against her forehead and light sparkled on her index finger. Loki's mind sharpened then cleared. _The ring, you idiot! Stop losing focus!_

"Well," the Enchantress was saying quietly, "your story certainly beats mine."

Loki adopted a soothing tone. "Don't be foolish, Amora. I didn't tell you my story to best yours. I told it to you because I wanted you to know..." Tenderly, he took her ring-bearing hand. "...That I understand."

And just like that, he had her. She stepped closer to him, her eyes blazing into his. She gave his hand a firm squeeze, and he felt the ring press against his palm. "You _will_ have your revenge on Odin _and_ on Thor."

"Yes, I will. And you will have your revenge on Karnilla. We'll do it together."

_A flick of the wrist._

"Yes,” she breathed. “Together."

Later, as he lay in bed twirling the ring around his finger, he realized that stealing such a powerful item had been surprisingly easy. He'd just never gone about it in such a way before. By telling the truth.

 _Stick to lies_ , he thought bitterly. _Stick to lies._

****

Despite Loki's cleverness, there was one piece of information he couldn’t get out of the Enchantress: Where the god-killer had come from. At first he had been subtle, praising Amora on how _difficult_ it must have been, how _clever_ she had become, to obtain such a creature. And to _also_ control her! Yes, Amora was _clearly_ the smartest and most capable witch Loki had ever known. Loki was a fool to have left her all those years ago. But he could make it up to her _now_.

If the Enchantress could use her… _distracting_ charms on him, so could he.

But so far… it _hadn't_ worked.

Much to Loki’s ever growing frustration.

And when he wasn’t annoyed about that, he found his mind preoccupied about something else.

The Enchantress had a moodiness about her, which she often took out on Lira.

Loki had lost count of the times he had seen Amora smack the girl across her face, or force her to grovel for hours on the floor, unable to move. Because of the mask she wore, it was easy for Loki to forget about what lay behind it, a realization that, each time, hit him with a strength that only an unfamiliar feeling could do:

 _Guilt_.

Yes... this must be what guilt felt like.

And Loki found he didn't like this feeling at all.

And then there was Amora herself...

Amora always had a way of finding something deep inside of him to attach herself to, no matter how small it was. Both her passion _and_ cruelty captivated him, something that was fine when it was just the two of them, but grew muddled and confusing when her disfigured captive came into the picture.

The longer he stayed here in his current state, the more off kilter he would become. And how could a person think logically when he was not in control of his emotions?

Loki hadn’t come as far as he had by being an emotional lunatic. Emotions might have _sparked_ his actions, but for his plans to work, they couldn’t be the fuel. He always had to be several steps ahead of his enemies, something that only a sturdy, well-learned mind could do. And Loki had had _plenty_ of practice over the years of swallowing down any thoughts he couldn't control. And sometimes, feeling nothing was the most wonderful feeling of all.

So, finally, Loki decided that his days of waiting and subterfuge were over (for he had started to feel too much).

“What are we doing here, Enchantress, besides _playing house_?”

Loki meant it to sound cheeky but his mouth had twisted more into a sneer than a smile.

From atop the stone throne, Amora stopped fanning herself idly and looked at him with a smirk.

“I thought patience was your specialty?”

“Not when I don't know the plan,” Loki muttered, annoyed. Behind the Enchantress, he saw a slight movement against the wall; Lira was here as well, lurking in the shadows...

Amora rose from the throne and approached him. Wrapping her arms around him and leaning against his chest, she smiled coyly up at him before pursing her lips in an exaggerated pout.

“Aww, feeling bored my little _special_ one? I can make those _bad_ feelings go away…”

The air started to shimmer green around them, but he wrenched her arms away and her pout became a real one.

“Enough,” he snapped. “Tell me what you mean to do.”

She turned her back on him and strolled to the throne once more. Running a hand along one of the arms, she replied calmly, “We’re going to Nordheim.”

“Obviously.”

“I lived there for years. I know exactly how to get inside the castle.”

“And then? Have you thought about what will happen once the Norn Queen is dead? This might spark war.”

Abruptly, she turned to face him once more. “Well,” she said slowly, “she won't be _exactly_ dead…”

Her face was like he had never seen it before, her eyes crazed and her mouth twisted in a smile so sinister, it was barely recognizable. But wait--he _had_ seen it this way before. When she had first laid eyes on the God-Jewel. And after he had told her what it contained.

“You mean to imprison Karnilla in the God-Jewel,” he breathed, absolutely astonished. He had met Karnilla several times and even traded a few magical secrets with her. He couldn't begin to comprehend what the woman had done to affect Amora so.

_The God-Jewel... A fate worse than death..._

“So,” he said brusquely, “when do we leave?”


	8. It’s All Fun And Games

Much wasn’t known about Karnilla.  She was apparently of the Asgardian race, but from the first time she appeared in Odin’s throne room, she made it known that she did _not_ consider herself subject to Asgardian rule.  Calling herself the Queen of the Norns, she swore war upon Odin’s city if she was not allowed to make Nornheim, one of Asgard’s provinces, an independent country with her at the head.  And Odin, being wise to the ways of powerful women, had let her.  As far as Loki knew, Odin had never even set foot in Nornheim.  Which _of course_ meant that Loki had to.

He had been eighteen when Karnilla had caught him sneaking around her castle.  Ten years his senior, she had been unlike any women he had seen before: tall and broad-shouldered with strong-looking arms and legs and a fierce-looking beauty.  She had reminded him of the descriptions of the Valkyries in some of his books.  So, after falling from a weak floorboard above her bedroom and landing right at her feet, he had been sure that he was going to be in trouble.  But he needn't have worried, for Karnilla never told his parents of his intrusion.  She liked to employ her own brand of punishment, which Loki learned _much_ from.  Like the benefits of keeping a number of weapons hidden on his person at all times.  ( _And_ how much fun it could be having another person try to find them all.)

As a skilled sorceress, Karnilla had asked Loki to be her apprentice.  Loki had declined; At the time, he believed he needed no teacher.  But wanting to keep his relationship with Karnilla civil, Loki had suggested someone else: _Amora_.

It was a thought that Loki couldn’t keep from remembering as his feet hit the ground outside of the Norn Queen’s castle.

“Alright, where’s this secret entrance of yours?”

“This way,” Amora replied, moving swiftly up the main path to the castle’s front doors.

Surprised, Loki quickened his pace to catch up to her.  “I thought you said you knew a _secret_ way into the castle,” he hissed.

“I do, but why use it?  We have the girl.”

Having seen what Lira could do to Odin’s guards, Loki shrugged his acquiescence.

This castle certainly wasn’t like Odin’s.  In fact, Loki had always felt like it couldn’t even be _called_ a castle.  It was more like a sizable stone longhouse that opened immediately up into a large room that was undoubtedly its version of a “Great Hall.”  The inside walls and roof were made up of wooden planks of spruce and redwood, and the fires that danced in several large stone pits bathed the room in a warm, golden glow.  Whereas Odin’s palace had an enormous entrance way that housed only columns (and his own separate throne room), here the Great Hall and dining area were one: on either side of the room stretched substantial-looking wooden tables flanked by benches.  Empty plates and discarded cups indicated that there had just been a meal.  At the end of the room was a fur-covered wooden chair that served as a throne, and on it sat the Queen of the Norns.

She had always struck Loki like a raven who had taken on the form of an Asgardian female.  Her black hair was wild and waist-length.  Her dark eyes were beautiful but also sharp and all-seeing.  She wasn’t dressed in silks or velvets but furs and feathers and thick-looking leather armor.  A sword with a wide blade and plain hilt usually rested casually against the armchair of her throne, but it was in her hand by the time Loki, Lira, and Amora came to a stop before her.

“Loki?  Amora?  Your visit was unknown to me.”  Her voice was deep but rough and powerful (much like her hands, Loki recalled idly.)

“Oh, we won’t be staying long,” Amora replied, smiling wickedly.  Loki remained quiet; this was Amora’s stage, not his.  Not _yet_.

Karnilla pointed her sword at Amora (which Loki thought a bad move).  “I thought I had banished you, _ragr_.”

_Oh dear..._

“You did, and without you, I’ve learned much.”  Amora’s voice became sickly sweet.  “Little did I know you were holding me back from my _true_ potential.  So I thought I’d drop by to… give you my _thanks_.”

Amora intoned a command, the words sharp and foreign.  Unlike the first time, she was confident, with no shuttered breaths or trembling hands.  Loki understood this, for surely she had had this day in her mind for many a year, sharpening the spellwords against her tongue until they were burned into it.  Amora would not fail at her revenge.  And Loki, knowing all about failed vengeance, wouldn't stop her.  He would give her this, this realization of a long held dream.  If only for a moment.

The God-Jewel had appeared in the air above them, casting the hall in a sickly red glow.  Just like before, a gale swept up, blowing their hair and clothes wildly about their faces.  Amora’s voice carved a way through it all, and Loki shut his eyes as his mind echoed back each word.  For he already knew the translation.

 _Son of earth and sky_  
_Bearer of crook and flail_  
_Cursed in death as in life_  
_Your sorrow not compare_  
_Open your heart for your killer is here_  
_And banish them to all they fear_

Just like Loki, Karnilla was unable to resist the God-Jewel’s power.  He watched as her body froze, caught within the transportation spell’s grasp.  Her countenance had been furious at first, but now it changed to an expression that Loki always found satisfying no matter whose face bore it: _fear_.  He saw a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye and knew that the Norn Queen’s guardsmen had arrived, and that Lira was sure to keep them from interfering…

With the god-killer here, all Loki had to do was watch.  So why, then, had Amora so forcibly “encouraged” his attendance?  To gloat?  (For surely _she_ had proven to be the most powerful sorcerer in Asgard.)   To have someone to celebrate with?

 _No._  To punish him for his participation in her pain.

Once again, Loki could understand this.  Pain wore many faces, including the most insidious of all: best intentions.  Loki was sure that Amora’s blame lay with _him_ as much as it did with Karnilla.  Why else would she have forced him to “test” the God-Jewel?  No doubt she planned to cast him into it once more, where he and Karnilla would spend eons passing each other in the cursed mist until their minds and spirits broke.  Maybe Amora would even release him from its hold every so often, whenever she desired his “companionship,” and then send him right back to hell.

 _Tsk, tsk._  Loki thought.  _You were_ never _a good student, Enchantress._

By the time the wind died and the light from the God-Jewel had dimmed, Nornheim’s great hall was nothing like it had been moments before.  Blood coated the walls and tables.  Several bodies littered the ground while ashes floated in the air.  The air smelled of ozone and death.  And Karnilla was nowhere to be seen.

The God-Jewel lay on the floor in the middle of the room.  Amora picked it up and pulled it close to her chest as if it were her own heart.  Suddenly, she turned to Loki.

_“I did it.”_

Loki looked at her face.  It was the same as the first face he had seen after fifty-seven years of complete isolation, and he would never forget the expression: crazed wonder and cruel satisfaction.  Concern and empathy?  All but unknown.

It was an expression that was on his face _now_.

“Yes, you did,” he said, his voice a low hiss.

At this, Amora’s face softened and she seemed to awaken from whatever emotional spell she had been under.  Her eyebrows drew together in an unspoken (and slightly alarmed) question.  Loki could tell that Lira, her mask stained with blood, was looking at him as well.

All eyes were on him.  Just like he always _adored_.

And, because even luck was something that Loki knew could be manipulated, he felt something stir deep within him.  It was a sparking, then a roaring.  A raging green fire.

His power had returned.

Slowly, his lips curved into a dark smile.  At the sight of Amora taking an involuntary step away from him, the smile widened, showing teeth.  Amora took another step back.

He could kill her now, even easier and more spectacularly than before.  But he didn’t.  Instead--

“I owe you something, Enchantress.  Or rather, _Lira_ does.”

Instinctively, Amora’s head jerked towards the god-killer despite not knowing her name.

“Lira, darling…” Loki began.  His voice was gentle and affectionate, like he was talking to a lover.  And then, with a tone of pure venom: _“Rip out her throat.”_

Slowly, Lira turned to look at the Enchantress.

“NO!!”

The Enchantress’ eyes were wide as Lira began advancing towards her.  Her pretty mouth was no longer smiling but twisted in anguish.  “No!!  Please!” she screamed as she fell back against Karnilla’s throne in frozen terror.  She stared at her hand but the simulacra that Loki had placed there was already crumbling into dust.  The God-Jewel fell from her grasp, and Loki bent to retrieve it, the real ring glinting on _his_ finger.

“Did you think I would forget?” he asked slowly, chillingly.  “What you did?  To me?”

Idly, he tossed the stone up in the air and caught it.  “ _Poor_ Karnilla, I’m robbing her of her revenge.  But I never did like to share…”

“Loki, _please_ , Loki, no…”

Loki curiously peered into the God-Jewel, a ghost of a smile on his face.  When the woman let out a violent sob, he almost laughed.

“Loki, I’m sorry!  Please!  Forgive me!”

He snapped his fingers and a green-tinged flame appeared on his thumb.  Another snap and it was gone.

 _Ahhhh_ , he had missed his magic.

“P-put me in the God-Jewel!  You-you said it was a fate worse than death.  Isn’t that what I deserve?  Please, PLEASE!”

 _Hmm_ , Loki pondered, and for a brief moment, he _did_ consider casting her into the God-Jewel.  But… it had been a long while since the beast in his chest had been fed.  And it always demanded _blood_.

As Lira left his side, Loki grasped the end of the scarf that surrounded her face and pulled.  The cloth unraveled and fell away, caught in his hand, and Lira continued walking, her disfigured face on full display--a reminder of what the Enchantress had done.

Amora moaned as her eyes filled with her fate, and she flung a desperate arm out before her.  A ball of fire shot from her splayed fingers, but Lira deflected the spell easily with a sharp wave of her hand.  Amora tried again and again, but it was no use.  Lira was upon her, looming over her like an apparition--something unimaginable, a being born out of darkness and nightmares with the face of a monster.

The woman’s screams filled up the chamber and Loki watched, as emotionless as the god-killer herself.  He hoped that the Enchantress’ heart would hold out to the last moment, that she would not die from fright alone.  He wanted her to _feel everything_ , to lose herself in Lira’s eyes, as black and endless as the death that awaited her.

_Ultimate power comes with a price._

The Enchantress’ screams died suddenly, and in their place was a horrible gurgling sound, and soon Lira’s body was covered in blood, though she had not touched the woman at all.  The hall quieted (though the death echo remained), and Loki was at the girl’s side.  With a flick of his wrist, the blood on her face and clothes disappeared.  He looked down at the body lying prone at the foot of the throne and his eyes drank in the horror of it: green fabric had turned red, eyes that used to be beautiful were frozen in fright and pain, and the rest of the face was...gone.  Loki looked at Lira.  Instinctively, her eyes seemed to shift up from the mangled body to him, and just like the Enchantress’ ruined face, there was nothing in them.  No remorse, no disgust.  Nothing.

“Good girl,” he told her in almost a whisper.  “Good girl.”

****

Little had changed in Karnilla’s bedroom since Loki had last been in it.  It was low-ceilinged and sparse, with only a wooden bureau in one corner and a large bed in the other.  On the wall opposite the bed was a large cobblestone fireplace, and Loki magicked a spitting fire into as soon as he entered the room.  The next thing he did was open the God-Jewel.  The Second Tongue felt horribly unnatural in his mouth but he didn’t flinch.  There was another burning flash of red light, and then Karnilla was there, sprawled in the middle of the bed, her eyes wide and haunted and sweat beading her brow.  She started flailing wildly, so Loki reached out to grab her hand.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright.  You’re safe, you're _home_.”  He continued to soothe her and say her name until her body calmed and her eyes stopped their rolling.

With Lira already under his control, he could have stopped Amora from sending Karnilla to experience the harshest of punishments.  But something in him had forcefully squashed that thought.  Could he have wanted someone who understood his pain?

 _No, of course not_ , he thought now.  That was ridiculous.  He needed no one.

After some time, Karnilla was coherent enough to ask Loki what had happened, and Loki explained everything (deftly leaving out anything that had to do with the god-killer).  Then he listened politely as the Norn Queen vented her frustrations, alternating between praising and admonishing Loki’s killing of the Enchantress (just as he had predicted, Karnilla had wanted to do it herself.).  When the Norn Queen had marched angrily from the room, Loki remained motionless until she thundered back in and pressed something into his palm, promising that she wouldn’t tell Odin that he had been there.  He stole a glance at it as she led him towards the longhouse’s door.  It was a Norn Stone and Loki knew that, even though Karnilla hadn’t said so, she was thankful.  Already she seemed back to her usual spirited self, but as they stopped at the open door, Loki noticed that the haunted look in her eyes remained.

“Will you be all right?” he asked her, a small bit of tenderness coloring his voice.  The eerie look in Karnilla’s stare was a thing of beauty and Loki almost smiled.

“As much as you’ll be,” she replied.

And with that, Loki took Lira’s hand and she transported them back to his hideout.

****

When Loki first arrived back at his stone hideaway, he was elated.  Nothing could compare to this feeling, this--what had he thought earlier, so eloquently?  Oh yes--this “realization of a long-held dream.”  _This_ dream might not have been as long-lived as the rest of them, but it was still just as sweet.  He had fulfilled his promise to the god-killer--he was in her debt no longer.  The Queen of Nornheim owed him a favor.  His power was a mere finger flick away.  He was a prisoner to no one.  And, as he peered into the mirror in his bedroom and his regal, strong self looked back at him, he could still smell Amora’s blood on on his hands...

Abruptly, his heady glow seemed to dim.

Amora…

Did he miss her?

No, he told himself fervently.

Had he acted too harshly?  Too hastily?

Of course not, he _never_ did that.  Her death had been the pinnacle of his plan, the _linchpin_.  He had decided that the moment she had commanded the God-Jewel to spit him back out.  Amid the turmoil of his emotions, that one thought had been clear, and it had calmed him.

Just like the scent of blood always did...

Loki’s stomach clenched and he winced automatically.  Then he _hmphed_ to himself and scowled back at his reflection.  What was this… this nagging feeling? _Guilt?_  Oh, guilt, you pesky devil, you.  Why should he feel guilty?  It was his nature, after all.  Isn't that what Odin had said, that time on the Rainbow Bridge?  Not in so many words, of course--Odin’s oratory skills may have been renowned among the nine realms, but he never seemed to put those skills to good use with Loki…

But there, on the Rainbow Bridge, had been the one time where Loki had understood Odin’s brevity.

_“I could have done it, Father!  I could have done it!  For you!  For all of us!”_

_“No, Loki.”_

_No, Loki._

_No._

The meaning had been clear.

_"What am I?”_

_“You’re…_

_not..._

_my…_

_son.”_

A tightening.  Then a loosening.  A slip of the fingers.  Then--

Falling.  Blackness.  Alone.

_“Who are you?”_

_"Nothing!” Loki screamed.  “I AM NOTHING.”_

_“Nothing… to no one.”_

Numb.  Dead.

And just when Loki had decided to let the blackness take him, a thought had entered his mind.  It had been tiny at first, like a grain of sand, a pinprick of light in the darkness.

_Kill._

_Yes_ , Loki sighed and his stomach seemed to unclench.  This thought, this _dream,_  had given him life.  When he had had nothing left, this belief had been his hope.  Something to do.  Something to strive for.  And the blackness, the _abyss_ in his chest was full again.

Full...

_Of blood._

Loki walked into his throne room.  He sat in his chair.  This was just a temporary space.  Soon, he would be sitting on a throne of gold, with his enemies at his feet.  Odin.  The Avengers.  Thor.

Thor...

Loki shook his head, trying to clear it.  It was then when he spied the god-killer.

She was standing straight across from him, by the faux-rock that hid the entrance of his hideaway from view.  Had she been here, still as a statue, all this time?  Well… what had Loki expected her to do anyways?  The ring on his finger bound her here.  Bound her… to _him_.

Loki loved speeches.  And large demonstrations of power.  He could do both now.  But this girl…  She was no fool.

“I’m sure you know of what has transpired here.”

He stared straight into her eyes.  He remembered how, when they had first met, a mere glance from those fiery orbs had seared him.  Made him feel inferior.  Neutered, even.  Well, Loki thought.  How funny.   They didn’t burn him _now_.

Still, he did not threaten her.  He kept his voice like how he felt: calm.   _Dangerously_ calm.

“Does more need to be said?”

She looked at him for a long moment.  Was she going to test him?  A part of him almost hoped she would...

She walked forward.  When she reached the dais, she got down on her hands and knees.  As Loki watched, she lowered herself to the ground below his feet.

_< No.>_

She touched her forehead to her hands in the most humble of bows.

_< Master.>_

Loki leaned back into his throne and sighed.

 _Master_.

It was good to be king.  And this was just the beginning.

He motioned, and she rose to face him once more.

“Now.  Remember earlier when I asked you where you came from?  You didn’t answer me.  Let’s try this again.  Where--”

Loki stopped.  He had felt a sensation ripple through him, and he recognized it immediately: someone had breached the perimeter of his secret hideout.  No doubt they were walking up the short path that led to the cave’s entrance way.  Loki tensed automatically and his magical mind _opened_ , ready for action.  The god-killer must have sensed his reaction (or the perimeter breach) for she, too, had swung her head around to peer curiously at the faux-rock behind her.  Loki’s brow furrowed sharply.  Who could it be?  Could Odin have found him already?  Had he, so flushed from his recent victory, let himself grow careless?  

Well, regardless, it was too late now.  And he was ready.

 _There_.  A ripple against the counterfeit wall in front of them.  Someone was coming through.

First came a fist, large, brown, and adorned with a shiny gold gauntlet whose design was abstract, a series of equidistant slash marks that looked like stick drawings of feathers.  Then came a knee followed by a bare, muscular leg and a foot that was off putting to spy: looking more like a massive paw, it had three toes that each had a deadly-looking black claw at the tip.  The strange fierceness of the foot was offset by delicate gold rings, one on each toe, and a golden band around a slender ankle.  Following the foot was a finely-pleated white loincloth; naked, sharply-defined abdominals; a wide, sturdy-looking chest (with, were those, gold-covered nipples?); another clawed foot; the other hand ( _this_ one clutching a golden staff), and finally, the head.   If Loki had thought that Karnilla looked like a raven-made-flesh, he had been woefully presumptuous.  It was _this_ man who looked as such.  His face was sharp, sharper than Loki’s, but wider and stronger, more masculine.  The nose was slightly hooked but not enough to throw off the face’s lovely symmetry.  A small black line marked the middle of his wide bottom lip, and his golden eyes could rival Lira’s, so striking they were, outlined in thick black kohl.  Above his eyes were another set of eyes, or rather, the eye  _holes_ of an ornate-looking helmet that was, naturally, shaped like the head of an imposing bird of prey.  The way this man looked, all broad shoulders and rippling muscles and strong beauty, reminded Loki of Thor...

Loki realized he did _not_ like this intruder.

When the man came to a stop right next to Lira, Loki could only offer him one of his trademark sneers.

“I believe this cave is occupied.  Why don’t you try one further down the ridge?”

“Are you Loki, son of Odin?”

The stranger’s voice (high and slightly musical), his outlandish appearance, and his ability to See through Loki’s spellguards meant only one thing: the man was a god.  And all the gold adorned on his person and the bold nakedness could only point to one classification: the Egyptian pantheon.

Loki drew himself up higher in his seat.  “I am he.  And I’d like an explanation for why you thought it prudent to trespass on my place of residence, _Son of Atum_.”

The man immediately lifted a clawed hand to his mouth and then up towards the roof of the cave, an obviously habitual sign of respect for Egypt’s First God.

“You are correct.  I am Horus, son of Atum through his child Osiris, my father.  I am lord of the sky and of war and of the hunt.  The sun sets when I close my right eye and rises when I close my left.”--(Here Loki began to speak but Horus continued on, seemingly oblivious)--“All the pharaohs of Egypt model themselves after me in life, as I, alone, channel Atum, the Complete one, the god of pre-existence and post-existence, ever ascendant from the chaos-waters, the finisher of the world,” he concluded finally, and in the back of Loki’s mind, he wondered what overwrought words _he_ would chose to use if he were to introduce himself in such a manner.  “I am sorry for this unwelcome intrusion, but I have been searching for you for a long time.  Or rather, for what you _possess_.”

Immediately, Loki’s mind went to the secret pocket dimension in which he had hidden the God-Jewel.  Another second passed, and Loki had already determined whether or not he should lie.

“What would the sole embodiment of Atum Himself want with such a meager thing like the God-Jewel?”

“You understand me well, Odinson, which is no doubt a testament to your position within the Norse pantheon--( _Which is?_ Loki bristled to himself, but Horus promptly went on)--”As the One Who Is Above, I care little for a thing that has the power to unmake death.  That is my father’s concern, not mine.”--( _Unless you happen to be stuck in it_ , Loki thought, crossly)--“But, I ask you, have you yet to wonder what it _is_?”

Before Loki could even formulate an answer, Horus continued.  “It is the heart of Osiris, God of the afterlife.  My father’s heart.”

Loki closed his mouth.  He knew that.  Well, he hadn’t, but he _would’ve_ if this insufferable know-it-all hadn’t so rudely interrupted his magical research.  He couldn’t help it, he was back to sneering.  “And let me guess.  Your father has need of it back.”

“No,” Horus said and his voice grew softer.  “ _I_ have need of it.  It is the last missing part of my father after he was so cruelly murdered by my brother Seth.  Missing, that is, no more.”

Once again, Loki couldn’t help himself: his eyebrows rose.  What a strange day he was having.  Still, a simple “I see” was all he said (for he knew by now that this Horus needed no prompting).  Sure enough, before Loki had even taken another breath, the man was speaking on once more.

“It has been eight hundred years.  Eight hundred years since I last looked upon my father’s face, alight with the life that Atum Above had so graciously bestowed upon him.  As a child, I watched as he taught the lowly Egyptian humans to renounce their barbaric ways.  He molded their hands to the plow.  He opened their ears to the pleasures of music and their minds to a legal code.  Egypt flourished under his wise council.  As _I_ was the son destined to take over the kingship, he was my inspiration, and I loved him dearly.  My brother Seth, did not.  He saw naught the love our father bequeathed on us, even though it was everywhere.  Seth murdered him, cruelly, and took his throne--”

“How?”

Horus blinked as if startled.  “What?”

“How did Seth kill your father?”

“He, um… He--At a banquet, he presented the assembled guests with a beautiful chest and the promise that it would be a gift for the one who fitted it perfectly.  Everyone tried it, even my mother and I.  But its deadly trap was not destined for us.  I often wish that it was _I_ who had been the one to capture my brother’s treacherous gaze, but egoism is not in my nature…” Horus sighed and his beautiful eyes seemed to stare off into space…

Loki rolled his eyes so hard, he felt like he could see out the back of his head.  “And the chest,” he sighed.  “What did it do?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The chest,” Loki replied, miming with his hands, “the--”

“Oh yes, yes.  My father was the last to try it, and, after exclaiming gaily that it fit him perfectly, Seth slammed the lid shut and bound the joints of the chest with lead.  Then my fiendish brother threw the chest into the Nile.”

Loki waited.  And waited.  Then he snorted.  “That’s it?”

Horus looked taken aback.  “Well, yes.  My father couldn’t get out of the chest.  He suffocated.”

“I gathered that.”

“And then when I and my mother wanted to bury his body, Seth retrieved it, cut it apart, and hid all the pieces.”

“Naturally.  I just… thought there’d be more to it.”

For a long, blissful (and amusing) moment, Horus fell silent, his mouth hanging open like a buffoon.  Then the careful hold he seemed to keep on his emotions vanished.

“It’s just, I mean… Why would he do such a thing?  To his own father?  Have you ever heard of something so horrible?  So perverse?”

“No.”

“It is… _unbecoming_ of a divine being such as we.”

“Yes,” Loki said emphatically, now obvious in his “agreement.”  “Incorrigible.”

“He was jealous, you see.  He envied my father’s power and attractiveness.  Seth was plain and sterile.  Full of anger and hate, never at rest.  It’s a wonder he was related to our family at all--”

“All right, all right, I get it,” Loki replied, suddenly irritable.  Horus didn’t notice; he was looking confused, and Loki surmised that it was because he wasn’t used to so many interruptions.

“The point…” the man began in an exasperated tone.  “The point of me telling you all this is for you to understand _what_ you have in your possession and _why_ you need to surrender it to me--Who is she?”

Horus was staring at Lira as if she had just appeared out of thin air, and Loki was startled to realize he had all but forgotten her as well.  Frowning, he replied, “My… servant.”

“She looks familiar…”

Once again, it was as if Horus had forgotten (or didn't care) that Loki was here.  The man continued to stare at Lira intently, one clawed hand cradling his chin.  But what was even _more_ surprising (and vexing) was that Lira was actually peering curiously back at _him_ , showing more interest in this stranger than she ever had with Loki.  

Abruptly, Horus started speaking in a language that Loki didn’t understand (but was no doubt the man’s own), and Loki was suddenly very intrigued.  He opened his mind.

_< What is he saying?>_

Lira’s brow was furrowed.   _< I… I’m not sure.  Some words sound familiar, but…>_

“Why does she not answer?” Horus demanded, cutting into their thought-speak.

Loki’s reply was swift and cool.  “Why would she?  She is but a servant.”

“Hmm.  Command her take off the mask.  I need to see her face.”

“ _No_ ,” Loki said, so sharply that the Sky God’s eyebrows rose.  Loki swallowed and forced his voice under control.  “She is not to speak or show her face while in the presence of the divine, lest she forget her place.”

Horus nodded in satisfaction.  “Yes, I see.  I am not surprised that you chose an Egyptian as your servant.  They can be quite governable.”

_...Egyptian!_

Loki could barely keep his thought-speak from spinning out of control in excitement.   _< Is what he saying true?  Are you of the Egyptian Pantheon? _  _Don’t lie to me.  Speak! > _

_ <I don’t… I’m not sure--> _

_ <How can you not be sure--> _

“In your Pantheon, you are the Trickster God, are you not?”

Loki sat back.  Blast this distracting man!  He sighed and rubbed his temples with his hand.  He made to answer but then, in a decidedly un-Loki-like fashion (irrefutable proof that this man had worn his energy and patience down to the nubs), he shrugged and threw up a hand in silent acquiescence.  A moment passed.  Then, unconsciously, his eyes flicked back up to his golden companion.   _So_ irritating.  By the Ancients, he never wanted to see this annoying man again.  Slyly, Loki looked him up and down.  Those claws, all that gold, _so_ ridiculous.  Were all Egyptian Gods like this?  Loki’s eyes settled on the man’s bare chest.  Those nipples… were they actually covered in gold, or were they just colored that way naturally? Or magicked, like a Glamour?  Loki was pondering how they would feel between his fingers when Horus spoke again.

“You _are_ going to give me the God-Jewel, are you not?”

“Of course,” Loki said and a smile curled his lips.  “ _After_ I’m done with it.”

He had expected this to confuse the Sky God once more, but Horus only looked past him.  “Dare I trust the Trickster?” he whispered, as if to himself.

 _Ahhh._  So this Horus was _not_ a complete fool.   _Good_ , Loki thought.  This will make things much more interesting.

“If you found the God-Jewel once, you can find it again.  What benefit would I gain to hide it from you?  To make an _enemy_ of you?”

“What benefit do you gain from keeping it?”

Loki only smiled.

Another strange moment of silence passed and then it was the Sky God’s turn to yield.  He sighed deeply, then a hint of a smile of his own brightened his lovely face.

“I have already been fooled by one Trickster, who was, no less, my own brother.  Surely Great Atum would not let me suffer a second time.”

_That’s a good boy._

“When you are done with the God-Jewel, please return it to me.  I’m assuming you know where to find me.”  Horus’ smiled turned boyish and he shrugged a shoulder.  “You could meet my mother.”

Loki couldn’t help it, he grinned back.  “Thank you, son of Atum.  I assure you, you won’t have to wait long.  Your father will be whole again.  Soon.”   _And mine will be dead._

Loki smiled and smiled as he watched his strange new friend graciously take his leave.

 _Or_ worse _than dead…_

****

Loki’s thoughts were a whirl.  He didn’t even think it could be possible for his spirits to soar any higher.  What a day he was having!  Or was it already the next day?  The solid rock around him never did like to say.  Days, months, he didn’t care--his plan was going even better than he could’ve dreamed.  With hardly any effort, Loki had learned the history of the God-Jewel.  Knowing that it was the heart of a Skyfather like Odin made the discovery even sweeter.  He had also made a strange but intriguing new friend and potential ally.  Sure, this one had ridiculously naive notions of altruism (or what he _believed_ was altruism), but… no matter.  Loki had long wanted to visit other Pantheons, and now he had a reason to do it without having to sneak around.

Gleefully, Loki cracked his knuckles.  What to do now?  He could rest (when had he even slept last?); he had certainly earned himself a respite.  But....

Who needed rest when your greatest mystery had been solved, or at the very least, cracked open like a greedy, pearl-bearing oyster?  All Loki had needed was an opening, a sliver of space that was just wide enough to slip a dagger through.

The god-killer was staring at him and he back at her, only this time, he could sense the weakness in her, the hesitance in her eyes.  The _fear_.

Loki felt a heady rush as the beast in his chest seemed to roar.

_Yes.  Little god-killer, soon you will be a mystery no longer.  Soon, you will be mine.  Completely._

_All_ mine _._

 _And the worlds will_ kneel _._


	9. Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to upload this chapter yet because it was a pain in the ass to write and I like editing things to death, BUT--I'm trying to reign in my perfectionism because I know that if I don't, I'll never get this thing finished. So yeah. Here's a new chapter with only 2 edits to its name (and not my usual 500). Hope you enjoy.

“So, where were we?”

Loki kept his voice light, his gaze friendly.  He had decided to give the god-killer one last chance to answer his questions.  One last chance… before he had to inflict pain.

And just like before, a part of him hoped she would continue to resist.

He had gone so long without his magic, it seemed to be lying in wait right under the surface of his skin.  Swirling, rippling, prowling back and forth like a caged animal.  And it _had_ been caged.   _He_ had been caged, but not anymore.

And Loki was just _dying_ to use his newfound freedom.

“Ah yes.  I had asked you where you were from.  Care to offer an answer?”

Silence.

His heart began to race and his magic surged in response, thrumming eagerly.

“Our lovely guest said you were Egyptian.  Is that true?  Are you an Egyptian goddess?”

Once more, nothing.

She _was_ looking at him but not passively.  There was an alertness there, and her eyes seemed to wear that expression boldly.  Just one day into her servitude and she was already challenging him?

 _Good girl_ , he thought, excitedly.   _Good girl._

He had seen what she could do.  Knowing that _he_ was her master seemed to set his heart aflame, his body electric.  He had never felt so powerful, even when he had had all the might of the Chitauri army at his fingertips.

He stretched out his hand.  “Come here, Lira.”

She came to him without hesitation, and guiding her hand like a gentlemen, he led her up the steps of the dais to the seat of the throne.  It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone that Loki could be a gentleman.  One doesn't cultivate a love of reading and study without stumbling, at the very least, upon a book of etiquette throughout the ages.  There was something about protocol and manners that had interested Loki from a young age.  Maybe it had been because he had grown up as a prince.  Or because he had someone like Thor as a brother, who had all the grace and sophistication of a baboon in a tutu.  Or maybe it was because it was so much easier to manipulate people if one was _polite_.

Yes, Loki could be a gentleman, but only when he wanted to be.  And as his magic sparked gleefully from his fingertips, he knew that _now_ was not that time.

“Well, if you won't answer...” he said with a dark smile, “into your mind it is, then.”

Immediately, two large handcuffs sprung up from the arms of the throne and latched themselves noisily around her wrists.  This startled her, and as she forcibly tested her bonds, Loki's smile did not leave his face: She wasn't going anywhere.  She was all _his_.

Casually, Loki flexed his fingers.  “I warn you, this is going to hurt.”

_ <Promise?> _

Loki blinked and furrowed his brows.  He couldn't have heard her correctly-- _surely_ she wasn’t taunting him. Feeling slightly confused (and his heady confidence slip), he decided to give her one last chance.

“It would be better if you just told me what I asked.”

The girl learned back into his throne and seemed to settle herself comfortably.  Her eyes weren't black but the look in them was just as fierce.

 _ <Do your worst, _ Son of Odin. _> _

Just like last time, her ominous whisper in his head was more monstrous than female.   _Unlike_ last time, Loki found himself _not_ afraid but… amused.  Her fiery defiance was impressive; it had been so long since someone had challenged him like this.

He stepped forward and placed one foot on the second step of the dais.  This way, when he leaned forward, they were the same height.  He drew his face close to hers and raised his hands to hover on both sides of her face.  He didn't need to be this close, but he suddenly had a strong desire to see _every_ reaction.

A Truth Spell was simple but required a considerable amount of power.  Power, which Loki had.  So much power… waiting there… beneath his skin.

He hadn't needed to say the spell words aloud but he did so anyways, his voice fierce and unwavering:

_“If knowledge itself is power, then the truth will be yours if you know how to find it.”_

Truth spells had always come easily to Loki.

 _“I know how to find it._  
_I know where it lives._  
_Now set it free unto me._  
_Unto me.”_

Power surged from his hands, and the god-killer slammed backwards into the throne as the invisible force hit her.  It was like the magic was an extension of his fingertips, pushing and probing its way deep into her mind.  Just like what usually happens at the onset of a Truth spell, he was met with resistance: her mind working on impulse, trying its hardest to resist the intrusion.  This was what usually caused the most pain, especially the longer the person fought.  And Loki had known from the beginning that she was going to fight him, her powerful mind throwing everything it had against him while his magic pressed stubbornly forward, piercing, penetrating.  This could take _hours_.  And Loki would enjoy every minute of it.

Besides… hadn't she done the same to him?

She was struggling against her bonds now, her eyes scrunched up and her hands clenched into fits, and Loki knew that she would be screaming… if she could.

For a moment, his strength wavered.  Why did he always seem to _feel something_ when he thought of her face?  It wasn’t like _he_ had been the cause of it, and besides he had been instrumental in allowing the girl her revenge.  Angrily, he gritted his teeth and doubled his efforts, sending a surge of power her way.   _Now was not the time for these thoughts!_

And his strength was rewarded.  Pictures began forming in his mind’s eye, fragmented and wild.  He could just barely make out large trees and snow-capped peaks until a larger picture began to assemble itself, viciously eating through the other images like acid.  He grinned.  Yes!  He was winning!  The Truth Spell was working!  Finally, he would have his answers!

But…

Emptiness.  He was standing in the middle of emptiness.

It was a wasteland, desolate, colorless… and _oh so familiar_.

The God-Jewel!

Wildly, Loki looked around himself.  Why… why was he back here?  What was going on?

Dry, hard-packed earth, a sunless gray sky, nothing on the horizon--

No, no… not again...

He was trapped… once again… so long… no one… nothing… nothing...

Out!  He had to get out!

“Enchantress!” he screamed.

He thought… Had it all been a dream?  His imagination?  Had he… had he not escaped this prison?

No, no…

The loneliness, it was a living thing.  A _monster_.  It _bit_ him, wrenched him open, burrowed its way in.

Nothing… nothing… he was nothing…

No one would look for him.  No one would miss him.  Mourn for him.  Remember him.

He was alone, forever.  

_A fate worse than death._

He threw his head back and screamed.  

And he was flying backwards, tumbling head over heels as if he had been pushed by an invisible force.  He landed hard and his eyes slammed shut from the blast of pain that erupted on the back of his head.  For a long moment, he was still, not daring to open his eyes.

He didn’t want to see.  He wanted to die.  To cease to exist.   _Anything_ but this.

Finally, a prickle in his mind.

_ <Like what you saw?> _

A... voice!

His eyes flew open and his heart lurched into his throat.  

Walls of dark rock all around him, air filling his lungs-- _there_ , _color_ , dancing on the walls!  Red, orange, yellow--beautiful flickering flames of color!

He… he was back.  He was _free_.

He was in his stone hideout, lying on the ground by the faux-rock door.  And in front of him was--

Lira, chained and leaning heavily against his stone throne, right where he had left her.

In his agitation, she must have found the strength to throw the Truth Spell off of her, which in turn threw _him_ backwards in the process.  He sighed in relief.

_ <You call yourself a sorcerer.  Can’t even handle a simple Truth Spell.  Or was it the truth itself that you can’t handle?> _

The god-killer, her voice labored but still monstrous, still _mocking_ , and this spurred Loki to unsteadily rise to his feet.  Slowly his mind was returning, but the strange hollowness in his chest remained--piercing, like a sword in his heart.  The insolence… How _dare_ she...

_ <You promised me pain.  Is that all you’ve got?> _

The numbness in his chest seemed to lurch.  How could this feeling of emptiness, of nothingness, cause so much pain?  “No wonder the Enchantress took your mouth,” he spat at her.  “It appears you haven't been _broken_ yet!”  At this, her gaze fell and Loki’s empty heart thrilled to her pain, gratified to feel something other than his own.

But it was only for a moment.  As he approached her, her eyes shot back up to his, burning fiercely, and he thought he felt a stab of laughter in his mind.

 _ <You seem unwell, Master.  Feeling… _lonely _? > _

He could have hit her, just like he had seen the Enchantress do.  But he knew better.  Words were his favorite weapon, and they could be just as deadly a reproach.  If not _worse_.

“No, no, I know you, little god-killer.  I saw you with the Enchantress, grovelling, clinging to her like a _pathetic_ child that has grown too old for the breast.  You may act like you don’t care, like you’re stronger than us all, but you’re not, you’re _weak_.  You _need_ your master, don’t you?  Even one that disfigured you, hurt you--you can’t stay away.  _You’re_ the lonesome one.  And now here I am, your new master.”

He loomed over her now, his body quaking with rage.  Despite this, he was still in control; he kept his voice like a dagger, delicate, but with a mighty sting.  “Do you like me?   _Need_ me?  Crave my _comforting hand_ upon your head?  Do you want me to _hold_ you, to tell you everything will be all right?  To call you my beloved?  To need… _you?”_

Slowly, he reached towards her.  The emotions, the _weakness_ , were alight in her eyes, and as his hand seemed to lovingly brush her curls, her eyelids fell and a tear rolled down her cheek, disappearing under her mask.  Like a sad, wounded animal, she leaned into his palm.  And Loki cast the Truth Spell.

_“YOUR TRUTH, UNTO ME!”_

His rage had made him powerful.  This time, his magic smashed its way through the barriers in her mind with little resistance.  When the image of the wasteland rose up once more like a phantom, Loki grit his teeth and forced himself past it.  New images were forming.  But... Loki realized with a frown… they _weren’t_ new… at least not to him.  He had seen them before, just not from the girl’s perspective.

_The Enchantress, filling up his vision.  She is snarling.  “This is what happens when you do not obey me.”  Fire, falling, blackness--_

_The chimera, on fire and flailing above his head--_

_The black door to Odin’s vault.  The white room.  There’s a mirror on the wall and he’s staring at it and--_

Himself _.  He’s looking at himself.  Standing across the field outside the witch’s cottage.  On his doppelganger's face is a mixture of shock, disgust, pity, and... tenderness?_

_“I will free you from the Enchantress.  I promised.”  His face is so close now, and the look in his eyes is full of soothing concern._

_"I will free you… I promise.”_

_Now there was an echo in his head, building to a cacophony: Liar, liar, liar, liar..._

Loki stumbled back and the Truth Spell broke into pieces around him.  His eyes, his memories, were his own again, but he abhorred them.

“You…” he began haltingly.  “You _don’t_ remember.  Until your master needs you, you’re kept in a pocket dimension similar to the God-Jewel, and the time there rots your memory.  So many years, trapped.  All by yourself…”

She wasn’t crying now but she also wasn’t looking at him.  Gone was the numbness--there was a _new_ feeling in his chest, something he didn't understand, but it hurt just as much as before.  In desperation, he ran his hands through his hair.

He… he should have _known_ this, researched it, before he subjected her to--

When had he become so cruel?

And his lie…  He had told _many_ lies, too numerous to count.  So why did this one feel different?

“I…” he began, but he couldn’t finish.  Were apologies always this difficult?  Did he even need to apologize?  Left unspoken, the words dried up on his tongue.

The God-Jewel, or something like it.  She knew what it felt like.  To feel so alone, unwanted.

Did she believe that she was nothing, too?

Involuntarily, Loki’s hand found her head again, and though he had hurt her so, she didn’t shy away from it.  This didn’t make Loki feel any better.  In fact, he felt worse.  And he _hated_ to feel.

Loki snatched his hand back as if it had been burned, and his teeth gnashed together in frustration.  What _did_ he want?  He hated the numbness but also couldn’t bear to feel such… _solicitude_ , such _guilt_ so deeply.  He growled to himself and stalked away from the throne.  This is what happened when he let his mind wander too far away from his plan, from his _rage--_ the lies, the betrayal, the pain.  This is what happened when he let people draw near.  He _needed_ no one.  Isn’t that what he had repeated to himself every day while imprisoned in Odin’s dungeon?  All he needed was his revenge.

Finally, his breathing slowed and he sighed.  The careful hold he kept on his emotions was back and so was his focus.  He snapped his fingers and the shackles around Lira’s wrists disappeared.

“Right.  Enough of this.  I have the answers I need.”

He tugged the air and a long gold ring appeared; he slipped it over his fingers.  Calling on his magic, he made a series of smooth circular movements with his hands; within seconds, a sparking gold light began to chase after his movements forming a pattern in the air.  The throne disappeared and Lira collapsed unto the floor.  Ignoring her, he sent a silent spell to each corner of the cavern, and as he walked forward, the room seemed to expand in tandem with his stride until it had all but doubled in size.  He motioned again and suddenly a series of stone columns descended from the ceiling at various points around the room.

Absentmindedly, he turned the serpent ring around his finger with his thumb, grinning to himself as he did so.

No more questions.  No more speeches, even.  Right now, Loki wanted to say little and simply _observe_.

He was going to test the god-killer’s powers.

“Get up,” he growled to her and she did.

Feeling generous, Loki made it easy at first.  With his right hand, he made a sweeping motion in the air, and a moment later, seven snarling, black wolves surround them, their eerie-sounding growls echoing through the cavern.

Loki’s command was simple: “Defend yourself.”

Despite whatever harm had occurred to her moments before, she sprang into action.  The first wolf that leaped at her flew back into a pillar, its spine crushed.  The second and third barely had a chance to react before being consumed by fire.  The smell of burnt fur and flesh made the grisly spectacle seem real.  The fourth attacking wolf had its neck snapped in mid air, and the fifth seemed to turn on its partner, sinking its jaws deep into the hapless wolf’s neck, before running itself headfirst into a wall.  

Here, the girl paused.  Whether it was to take a breather or up the tension, Loki didn’t know (nor care)--his breath was in his throat, waiting expectantly.

The last wolf hadn’t immediately lunged at the girl.  It held back, snarling, as its companions were dispatched with one by one.  This wolf had a light in it’s eyes, a spark of intelligence.  The wolf and the destroyer stared at one another from across the cavern.  And then, with a loud ripping sound and a gurgled howl of pain, the wolf seemed to stretch until it tore into four pieces; each piece shot in opposite directions to hit the four corners of the room with a series of horrible squelching sounds.  The god-killer dropped her arms and looked at Loki, her posture straight, her eyes cool.

Loki’s eyebrows were in his hairline.  He hadn’t expected such… variance.  It was a very promising start, and he was eager to see more.  One after another, Loki threw everything that he could think of at her: goblins, human soldiers, a wyvern, necromancers, ghosts, the Destroyer.  He filled the cavern up with water and conjured the creatures of the deep to come out of the blackness and attack her.  Occasionally, he would give her commands: “This time use just your hands,” or “Keep your eyes closed.”  Some assailants would get lucky: the girl was turned to stone, caught up in noxious webs, pinned down by massive arms, and each time she broke free and attacked back with a ruthless vengeance.  She was like a deadly tornado of destruction careening around the room; everything she touched or magicked was killed or torn apart in the most dreadful of ways.  By now, she and the room were covered in the blood of hundreds of different species, and even Loki himself could sense the blood droplets on his face...

A feeling was rising within him, something he always seemed to feel when confronted with death and murder.  It felt like a fever sickness, except one with an oddly pleasurable edge, and it made him feel giddy and strange.  He remembered when he had felt it the first time, and the unfamiliar feeling had almost overpowered him.  But he had been weak then, naive, and with time and hardly any effort, he had taught himself to bask in the feeling, to _savor_ it.

And so, as his eyes and ears drank in their fill of the gruesome sights and sounds before him, he emptied the chamber with a wave.  His earlier _pathetic_ feelings of guilt and despair were gone.  Now, he was afire with excitement, for he had just thought of an exceptionally wicked idea.

_Let's see how she responds to this._

He made a series of motions in the air and a second later, a new creature appeared in the center of the room: a human baby boy.

He was naked with chubby arms, bright blue eyes, and a halo of golden curls--really, Loki couldn’t have made him any cuter.  The child gurgled happily as he kicked his feet and wiggled his toes in the pool of blood he was sitting in.

Loki’s command was simple: “Kill it.”

****

She stares at the child.  Rising from her crouched position and dripping with her victims’ blood, she hears her master’s voice ring through the cavern.

“Kill it.”

She is calm.  The floor under her feet is solid.

 _Make it slow_ , she thinks automatically.  Her eyes darken.

****

Something was wrong.  The feeling in his chest was… different.  The girl had really taken her time with this one, and when the child had been dealt with, nothing but stray bits of viscera remained.  The god-killer turned her black, emotionless eyes towards him, and his chest seemed to clench for the second time that day.  He turned away from her and put a hand against a pillar to steady himself.

He has seen murder like this before.  He had _done_ it...

Not to a child this young… but it had only been an illusion; it shouldn't have affected him so.

Perhaps that was why the god-killer hadn't hesitated; she knew the child wasn't real.  Still...

She had a mind.  Loki knew.  Despite her time in the cursed wasteland, she still had at least a modicum of a sense of self, or else she wouldn’t have taunted him so, _resisted_ him so.  If her mind had been broken, she would only be a feral creature, obeying his every word without hesitation.

But she _didn’t_ hesitate.

Even _he_ would have hesitated, when faced with such an innocent.  He would have wanted to know the reasoning behind the request.

_Wouldn’t he?_

Or would he have done it, blindly and without remorse, if he knew it would further his plan?

What if this child had stood between him and Odin?

When he had rained down destruction upon Midgard during the Chitauri attack, he could have sent hundreds of children to their deaths.  But he hadn't thought about that then...

His mind whirled, and Loki put his hands over his ears as if doing so would calm the chaos.  But it was no use; his thoughts crashed into one another, conjuring up feelings and memories against his will.  Memories of the the people he had killed.  Each one.  How he had felt each time, that sick, dark elation.  Each face seemed to flash in his mind, going backwards in time, all the way to the _first_.

“I need to know,” he began slowly, “what it was that caused you to…”

He turned to face her.  “To do that, to torture and kill like you did just now, without remorse.  What was it?”

The blackness in her eyes was fading but a ghostly hollowness remained, and Loki recognized that look--he knew exactly what she was feeling.  Feral creature or not, she was still _alive,_ with feelings, instincts.  Something must have happened to her that ruthlessly aborted the part of her that hesitated before the kill.  The… _innocence_.  And here in this very moment, Loki desperately needed to know what it was.

An emotion had risen to the surface of her face, but it wasn't what Loki had expected--it was confusion.  Her shoulders slumped and she broke eye contact with him, unconsciously fiddling with the sides of her dress.  She shook her head.

_ <I… don't know what you're talking about.> _

“You do.”

_ <I… I don't remember…> _

It was Loki's turn to shake his head.  “You _do_.”

This time, threatening her felt uncomfortable, but he did it anyways.

_ <Do I have to command you?> _

She stopped her twitching and looked back up at him.  Her expression had turned calm, emotionless, just like it usually was, but Loki barely registered this, he was so full of feverish, crazed energy.  

_Kill.  Rage.  Destroy..._

He needed to know.  And finally, the god-killer acquiesced, her hands sparkling with the light from her magic.

Just like what had happened back in Vanaheim, Loki’s mind seemed to open and _strrretch_ as she magicked her way into it--notably _without_ any of the force that he had used on her moments before.  No, this was gentle: Her memories were the water and his mind was the basin catching all the water she poured. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, his eyes were no longer his own--they were Lira’s.

 _The first things he notices are the trees.  They are colossal and everywhere, filling up his line of sight with a beautiful canopy of green.  The next things he notices are the smells: the air is the freshest he has smelled in a while; every breath is thrilling, like the Ambrosia of scents.  The sky above is a cloudless azure blue, and the forest… the forest is abuzz with the sounds of life: the droning of unseen insects, the chirps of the Red Fox, the growls of the Eastern Cougar, the all-but-silent patter of the White-Tailed Deer, and far off in the distance, the eerie howls of wolves.  He has never felt so alive--he is so_ full _of the sights and sounds and scents of the unfettered creatures surrounding him.  Even the beautiful counterfeit forest surrounding Odin’s palace could not compare to this..._

_There is a break in the forest ahead of him; he can see it between the trees.  It seems to call to him and he walks closer.  A clearing comes into view, and it is massive but not empty: the backs of two longhouses face him, but he knows there are many more.  He steps into the clearing with ease and begins to walk through the village of the Haudenosaunee, his beloved ones.  It is strange, he thinks ruefully; he has only been away from the camp for an hour or two, but his heart is suddenly warm with love for them, as if Loki was the prodigal daughter come home.  He peeks into open doors as he passes and smiles at the signs of life: In one, his friend Talise seems to have her hands full with the twins Sheauga and Shenandoah; In another, Loki catches the eye of Ho-sa-gowwa, who lives up to his name by flashing Loki a beautiful smile.  In return, Loki offers him one of his own, though shyer, before he hurries on.  There is a break in the longhouses and through it, he sees a row of sunflowers, their faces turned towards his.  It is cold but thankfully there are many fire pits, and as he passes each one, he gets a whiff of smoke and a nod or wave from the villagers warming themselves there.  Old Sagayendwarahton offers him a pipe as he passes, but Loki declines with a smile--tobacco makes his head feel funny, and besides, he was on his way to see Onatah..._

This was extraordinary.  The memory he was seeing was not his own but oh, did it _feel_ like it.  This wasn’t like a dream where he followed along with her like a phantom, looking down from above-- _He_ was Lira.  Alongside his _own_ thoughts and memories, were hers; he could feel what she felt and think what she thought, but only within the limits of the memory.  For a long moment, it had been confusing, the intrusion into in his mind, the duality, but the sights and sounds and feelings he was experiencing were priceless, a rare and total glimpse into another creature’s mind.  He tried to limit his sense of self as much as possible and let Lira’s memory, her consciousness, take over.  Not once did he think he would regret this.  Not until it was over…

_He finds her quickly, which surprises him.  Being a Clan Mother, she has many responsibilities and always seemed to be on the move.  But he has found her the first place he looks--her longhouse--and he seems to have caught her at a rare moment of peace._

_“Onatah, I have brought you some wood for the fire,” he says as he steps into the longhouse and to the old woman’s side.  Loki looks down and for the first time, he notices the firewood cradled in his--_ Lira’s _\--thin, brown arms.  His mind is also surprised to hear Lira’s voice (and he longs for a mirror), but her memory is already spurring him forward, and he moves up to the fire pit to deposit the wood there.  He feels magic stir within him and Loki’s mind wishes he could linger on its strangeness, but a second later, he raises up a hand and sets the wood on fire with a snap.  The warmth quickly fills up the longhouse, and Onatah loosens the hide from around her small form._

 _“Thank you, Jigonhsasee,” Onatah says.  Her voice is low but magnetic, and Loki’s ears strain as if afraid to miss a single word.  At the mention of his Haudenosaunee name, Loki’s chest seems to expand even more so--he just_ loves _when Onatah speaks his name aloud.  There is a kind of magic in the way she says it, as if her doing so is the chisel that gently scrapes away the burnt brand of his other name, the one he hates.  And even though this name was simply Haudenosaunee for “New Face,” his heart seems to swell every time one of the villagers says it.  It makes him feel accepted, and Loki can’t remember a time when he has felt this before._ Yes _, he thinks as he sits comfortably down beside Onatah._ This is better than killing.  This must be… happiness.

_Suddenly, Loki’s chest jolts as an explosion ricochets through the quiet of the village.  There are shouts and blurred movement outside the longhouse’s door.  Onatah is on her feet and so is he.  They race outside._

_In the middle of the village, a longhouse is on fire, and Loki knows immediately that something is not right because no one is putting out the flames.  Dozens of the villagers surround the burning longhouse, but they seem frozen or stuck to the ground.  When Loki pushes through the throng, he sees why._

_A man stands in front of the longhouse.  He is only a few inches taller than the tallest person in the village, but to Loki, he is gigantic, looming over him like a menacing, dark tower.  It looks like he has the head of a jackal, but Loki knows that’s a lie--it is only a jackal-shaped mask he wears; underneath it, he has a face just like any human, though he is not one.  Even though the air is crisp, he only wears a silky white loincloth.  His body is flawless, the peak of male virility and strength.  Gold sparkles on his wrists, ankles, ears, and various other places on his body, and his hand grips a long, golden staff that has a series of lines etched into its surface.  Loki knows the pattern all too well--it has decorated his skin many a time.  Loki’s breathing is shallow, and his heart… his heart is a black hole._

_“Master?” he whispers._

_From beneath the mask comes a hiss of a voice.  “Did you think I wouldn't find you, Asura?”_

_“Master, I…”_

_“Did you think,” the voice says slowly, chillingly, “that I would forget you?  That I wouldn’t look for you?  Want you back?”_

Loki’s mouth is open but speech alludes him.  He _can’t-_ -Lira’s body is riddled with feelings of shock and fear--emotions Loki has never felt with such potency before.  He wants to flee, to hide until his body, his emotions, are his own again.

_His master spreads his arms wide.  All of a sudden, the man seems more relaxed, more… tender.  “It is time to leave, Asura, to go home.  I’ve missed you so.”  He stretches forth a hand, and it almost sounds like he is smiling.  “Come, my little Asura.”_

Loki’s mind is panicking; his instincts are screaming, _don’t… don’t do it!_ but Lira is already walking towards the man, taking him ever closer.

Lira’s frantic thoughts tear through his own.   _This… this is good.  He doesn’t seem angry.  Maybe if I just leave with him, then nothing… nothing bad will happen..._

Loki wants to cry, to scream.  His feelings are mixed with hers, and the combined terror consumes him.  He has never felt so out of control.  No, no…

_He has reached his master.  Gingerly, he reaches to take the man’s hand.  “Good girl,” the man says.  But his master doesn’t take his hand._

_“Before we go....”_

_A chill._

_“_ Kill them all.”

_Loki’s breath dies in his throat._

_No…_

_There's a buzzing in his ears; he shakes his head, trying to clear it.  The buzzing rises to a piercing squall and Loki’s turning to face the crowd._

_Before his master, he had been nothing.  Unwanted, unloved.  But this man had taken him in, given him a name, filled him with purpose.  Taught him to unshackle that dark beast within him who could set aflame the cold heart of a savage world, one that would love him in return, forever.  And in exchange for these gifts, there was only one thing his master required:_ obedience _._

_Loki closes his eyes.  When he opens them, the village is gone._

_He is standing on hard, red sand.  Massive sandstone peaks surround him.  The sky is the loveliest, clearest blue, and the sun is hot upon his face.  He turns slowly in a circle, and the land is so flat he can see every horizon.  There are no animals and very little foliage, but despite that, the place is beautiful._

_Onatah is here.  His heart warms as he sees her.  All the villagers are here standing in a large circle around him.  They’re waiting.  Waiting for the drums.  Waiting for him.  Fastened to his arms are shiny black feathers, hundreds of them packed tightly.  He lifts his hands above his head and the twelve foot wingspan points to the sky.  There is paint on his face and feathers in his hair.  The rest of him is covered in layers of buckskin adorned with tiny bells and thousands of small colorful beads.  It’s an ensemble fit for the most beloved of the Haudenosaunee, and he feels beautiful and strong and loved.  The drums begin and he starts to dance._

_It’s a pounding rhythm that has Loki furiously stomping his feet, his arms spread wide.  He twirls and leaps and dips his arms like a bird in flight.  The women of the village have added their voices to the song, and their singing is high, urgent, powerful,_ beautiful _.  Loki closes his eyes and his world shrinks until all it contains are the sounds of the song, the movements of his body, and the Haudenosaunee.  Surely these were a people that he could come to call family._

 _The voices have risen in pitch and urgency, and Loki is so caught up in his dance, it takes a minute for him to realize that they have no place in the song.  Because they are_ screams _._

 _His eyes open wide.  And_ he _wants to scream._

_Once more, he stands in a circle of hard-packed earth, but this time, the Haudenosaunee are not there to greet him like in his daydream.  They are dead._

_Some are on fire.  Others have spears and tomahawks protruding from them, and tears fill Loki’s eyes.  They should have known that weapons were no match for him!  The ones that had tried to flee were high up in the trees, branches skewered through their bodies.  How would they have known that he could command the trees to turn against them?  The longhouses are smoldering wrecks, the earth itself is charred and broken.  Loki falls to his knees when he sees the smoking remains of a corn husk doll.  Even the children had not been spared his ravaging hand._

_“No…”_

_Something is stirring in front of him, and Loki’s heart leaps with a violent hope.  It is_ _Onatah, rising shakily from beneath the bodies of the two villagers who had died protecting her.  Loki’s voice flies to the old woman like a caged bird set free._

 _“Onatah!  I’m_ sorry _!”_

_In his desperation he had forgotten to whisper, and Onatah is dead before she hits the ground--murdered by the sound of his voice because every part of him is a killer.  Loki covers his face as sobs wrack his body, but he makes sure that no more sounds escape._

_There is a rustling behind him.  It’s his master.  The man’s voice seems to sweep across the landscape.  “Look, look, my little Asura, look what you’ve done.”_

_Loki feels his hair being pulled up, and though the tendons scream in his neck, he doesn’t rise--he lets himself be dragged away by his master.  He hears a sparking and knows that his master has conjured up a portal to take them home._

_“Run from me again…”  The unfinished sentence hangs eerily in the air, but Loki needs no threat.  His heart is closing, collapsing in on itself like a dying star, swallowing down all that Loki had ever thought or felt about himself._

_He doesn’t deserve a family, doesn't deserve love._

_He needs nothing, not even a name._

_He is but a thing.  A slave._

_With one purpose._

Death _._

****

For a second time that day, Loki fell to the floor.  Although his thoughts and eyes were his own again, he couldn't stop his body’s violent shaking.  Trying to separate himself from Lira’s emotions throughout the memory had been useless-- _he_ as good as killed those people.  And even though he had murdered so many times before, _this_ felt different.  This felt scarily like… the _first_.

Slowly, he got on his hands and knees.  There was bile in his throat and he wanted to vomit, but he held himself still and finally, moments later, the feeling passed.  He rose to his feet.

He didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know, but his eyes flew straight to the girl in the middle of the room, the one still covered in blood.  And just like he had predicted, she was looking right back at him, but her eyes were glassy, as dead as the Haudenosaunee in her memory _._  The horrors she had seen in her life.  The horrors she had done.  The horrors _he_ had done.  It was all too much, and he wanted to collapse, to slip into a dream world that was still plagued by nightmares but none as horrible as this.

But his heart was not done being pierced.

_ <Do you have a master?> _

The thought she sent him was hushed and an icy realization dawned on him as he realized why her thunderous mind-speak had scorched him so.  

“No,” he whispered.

He knew what she was going to ask next, and he braced himself and held his breath as if that had the power to stop her.

_ <Then why do you do it?> _

“Because…” he began.  He wanted to lie to her.  It was what he was best at, a skill that he could do without hesitation, and he _did_ speak without thinking, it just wasn’t a lie.

“Because I’m a monster.”  

 _There_.  The thing that haunted his dreams and chased after him like a shadow during the day--he had finally said its name aloud.  But a beat passed and he was suddenly red with shame.

She would laugh at him, just like before.  She would gloat, remind him that _she_ was the more powerful one--the _true_ child of a Skyfather, an Earth Goddess, or _whatever_ she was _\--_ and that the only thing keeping her from destroying him was a small silver ring.  Loki gritted his teeth, preparing himself for her response.  And it came, eventually, but there was no laughter in her voice.

_ <That’s funny.  So am I.> _

The whisper was so small he could have missed it, but the _words_ \--they seemed to wrench his body open and steal themselves inside.

Monsters.  Both… monsters.

It was like the blindfold was gone from his eyes; he could _see_ her now.

She wasn’t just a feral creature, a mindless killing machine following every order without hesitation.  She was like _him_. While hiding behind a friendly face, the world had made her a monster… but when she followed her nature, they screamed, and when she acted differently, they rebuked, taunted.  “ _Monster, monster, monster!”_ they would cry. _“Bring forth the monster!”_  And they would gawk, and they would blame.  How else would they convince themselves that they were different-- _better_ \--than their creations?

All of Asgard had wanted the monster, and they had got him.

But… even this revelation was too much.  He had gone _so long_ convincing himself over and over that he didn’t care if people understood him--he only wanted them to know his rage.  But now…  

No… _no_ , he was _not_ opening himself up to this creature!  He had already let too much in.  He…

He didn’t know.  For the first time, Loki didn’t know.  The world he had lived in for so long had been turned upside down, just like before, and there was only one thing he wanted to do about it.

“I need to get drunk,” he announced to the air.  Of course, the air didn’t respond and neither did Lira--at least not with words.  Casually, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him.  Was an eyeroll next?

He smiled, uttering only one word: _“Midgard.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the song that Lira dances to in her mind: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwOrenko9KQ
> 
> It's beautiful and amazing and if you're interested, I implore you to listen to the whole thing.


	10. Loki And Lira Take Manhattan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I try to pretend that I know my way around New York.

Travelling from realm to realm was so much easier with Lira at your side.  No more death-teasing treks across restless waters and hurtling through narrow hidden spaces, and no more years of studying and searching to find those areas to begin with.  You were simply in one world, then a moment later, you were in another.  Yes, this was the only way he planned on travelling from now on, Loki thought as his feet hit pavement, and he and Lira smoothly continued walking past oblivious humans who hustled along like a school of fish, so focused, they were, on their cell phones or their destinations.  They didn’t even notice when he magicked away his Asgardian regalia in favor of Midgard’s more mundane apparel and shortened his hair to just past his ears.  But Lira had noticed, and as she squinted up at him, he couldn’t help but grin.

“My other guise is not quite as popular here, I’m afraid.”

The girl blinked, surveying his new appearance with a slight hint of curiosity, and then, apparently satisfied, swept her eyes around their surroundings.  At Loki’s request, they had appeared in the middle of New York City.  This had been one of the more interesting places he had visited during his first trip to Midgard.   _So many humans._  They milled around in a large mass that seemed to take on an entity all its own, while another entity, a noisier (and far less interesting) one traversed the streets like a smoke-belching, light-flashing mechanical beast.  And then, surrounding them all, were the metal giants with cool facades that blotted out the sky as they peered down from above.  Loki found it thrilling to be walking amid the throng, a god among men, with his secret awareness that at any moment, he could snuff the fragile, pathetic life out of a human passerby as easily as one would a candle.  His last visit to Midgard had been wonderfully satisfying… except for the very end.

As that memory rose to the surface of his mind, he grimaced.  There was a stirring in his chest like the uncurling of a great beast, and his magic twitched in response.  His palms itched and he curled them into fists.  How easily it would be to kill every human on this street....

Suddenly, he felt someone grab his hand and he bristled.  Dare a human touch him?  He looked down and his mouth opened.  It was _Lira_.  She was using his hand to stop from falling, and Loki realized that someone must have jostled or startled her.   _How long has it been since she has been around this many creatures?_ he wondered.  Realizing that Loki was looking down at her, she quickly let go.  Loki furrowed his brows, feeling strange.  Yes, he was definitely going to get drunk as Hel tonight.

Loki hated to admit that Midgardian alcohol had a certain quality to it that he liked.  The only problem was, being a far superior being, it took a considerable amount for Loki to even feel anything.  As they walked, Loki scanned the storefronts, looking for the proper establishment.   _Might as well get started now_ , he thought with a shrug.  He knew that he was probably being reckless, parading down the streets of the very city he had attacked last year, but a part of him just wanted to… have some frivolity, like how he had been in his youth.  His young and carefree self was so far from what he had become, it seemed like a great, impassable divide existed between the two.  All he had known for so many years was pain and patience and planning.  So much patience.  So much planning.  For once he didn’t want to do any of that.  He didn’t even want to think.

And if his brother or the Avengers found him, well… he would deal with that when it happened.

Up ahead, the crowd seemed to be parting in a hurry, and a second later, Loki saw why: A trio of teenaged human males were zipping towards them, and for a wild moment, Loki thought they were flying.  But, no, _of course_ not--they were each on some strange Midgardian contraption that looked like a small wooden board with wheels.  There were angry shouts as they sped by various humans, weaving around the crowd with an air of smugness that made Loki want to roll his eyes.  They reminded him of Thor and his friends as children, and the many times that they had rampaged around the castle like idiots, often upending whatever Loki had been working on at the time while hurling taunts at his head.   _Tsk, tsk._    _This will not do_ , Loki thought and he called on his magic.  The first boy had been in the middle of pumping his foot on the ground to propel him forward when he suddenly realized that the laces of his shoes were tied.  The look on his face was priceless as he fell forward and skidded to a stop right at Loki’s feet.  The other two boys met the same embarrassing fate.  “Serves you right, you damn kids!” a portly man in a white apron yelled from the door of his establishment, and Loki pursed his lips trying to hide a smile.  Casting another spell that ensured that the young hooligans would find themselves hopeless tangled for several hours, Loki started walking again.  Sure, he could have hurt them, made it so they never walked again, but it was too early in his visit for that.  And besides, he had felt a tiny thrill at his piece of mischief.  Odin had never let him get away with any of the pranks he pulled when he was younger.

He had gone only a few feet when the crowd around him fell to the ground with a chorus of startled cries.  Surprised, Loki’s head whipped around.  He and Lira were the only ones left standing; no one else had been spared--men, women, young people, even a dog walker and her five dogs.  The ground was littered with papers, bags, and food items, and several of the humans had spilled their drinks on themselves.  “I didn’t do it,” Loki said automatically, just like he had said hundreds of times to Odin in his youth **\--** but this time it wasn’t a lie.With his brow furrowed once more, he peered at the closest ones around him… and realized that the laces of all of their shoes had been knotted together, just like what Loki had done earlier to the trio of rascally teens.  Nonplussed, Loki gawked and frowned until he felt something brush the back of his hand.  It was Lira, clutching the sides of her dress and swaying from side to side.  She was looking up at him and her eyes were turned up at the edges, and Loki _knew_.  She was laughing, or she would be, if she could; instead, she was rocking on her heels like a child who had just done something mischievous, her curls twitching as they echoed the movement.

“Was that you?” he murmured to her, astonished.  

At this, she stopped her rocking.  A beat passed.  Then, with her eyes still shaped like crescent moons, she shrugged as if to say, “Who knows?”

Loki couldn’t help it, he grinned.

“I used to be really good at pranks when I was younger,” he said to her as they stepped over the still-bewildered crowd.

_ <Could’ve fooled me.> _

Loki stopped in his tracks.  He stared down at the girl, hands on his hips.  “Oh ho!  You think you’re better than the _God of Mischief?_ ”

She had starting swaying idly again, looking up at him like an imp.  Finally, she threw her hands up in a mocking shrug.

Loki’s lips twisted into a smirk.  Getting drunk would have to wait.

Excitedly, he looked around.  There were humans _everywhere_ , swarming around them like ants.  Did they ever stop moving?  Loki suddenly had the thought of magicking their feet to the pavement and watching them panic, but he shook his head.   _Too easy._  Lira had decided to lazily skip to keep up with his long strides, and Loki knew that she was doing it to goad him, and Loki couldn’t keep from smiling.   _This was going to be fun._

As Loki turned a corner, he spotted a small metal cart that had steam wafting up into a large colorful umbrella.  A scribbled sign said, “Hot Dogs - $6.”  An older human male with a bald spot and baggy gray suit had just been handed his “hot dog” ( _What a ridiculous name for a nutriment_ , Loki thought) and was staring at a collection of condiments.  Loki skimmed his mind as he reached for a yellow squeeze bottle, but all he got was a short phrase: “ _No such thing as too much mustard.”  These Midgardians really are intellectually inferior_ , Loki thought as he motioned for Lira to join him in a small indent between the storefronts.  

“Watch and learn, little god-killer,” he said with a smirk as he raised his right palm and called upon his magic.  He thought he heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort in his head, but it was hard to tell over the bustle of the city.  The old man was just about to squeeze some “mustard” over his ridiculously-named-food-item when… nothing happened.  He shook the bottle and tried again.   _Nothing_.

“Hey, this here’s empty,” he said to the vendor, brandishing the bottle under the man’s nose.

“I just filled it this morning.  Just give it a shake.”

The old man shrugged and turned away to try again.  Holding the bottle over his hot dog, he repeated his actions: Shake.  Squeeze.  And.... he still got nothing.

“There’s nothing in it!” he said again to the vendor.  The man behind the cart sighed and grabbed the bottle.  Looking annoyed, he shook the bottle forcefully and then squeezed.

“See, it’s almost full.”

“What?  That can’t be right.  I tried it, it was completely empty.”

“Maybe you’re not squeezing hard enough.”

“I know how to put mustard on a hot dog!” the older man snapped, and Loki had to suppress a snicker.  And much to Loki’s delight, it appeared the old man with the hot dog wasn’t giving up.  Shake, squeeze, shake, squeeze.  Stronger shake, stronger squeeze.  Frustrated shake and angry squeeze.  And still… _Nothing_.  Or so he thought.

“Euughhh!”

A woman had skidded to a stop in the crowd across for the hot dog stand, her back to Loki and Lira.  She appeared to be wiping something from her shirt, her movements slow and oversized as if she couldn't believe what had just happened.  Gleefully, Loki nudged Lira’s arm even though the girl could see the whole scene clearly.  Soon, another man stopped, staring down at the front of his business suit in disbelief.  Another followed.  Then another, and Loki’s laughed snaked through the sounds of their astonished cries.  Every time the old man had squeezed the mustard bottle, the strange yellow condiment had squirted out of thin air onto an unsuspecting fool in the crowd.  By now there were seven people standing around looking dumbfounded while wiping mustard off themselves.  And what made it even better was the old man’s obliviousness (and his by-golly-he-was-going-to-have-his-mustard attitude).

Grinning and feeling rather pleased with himself, Loki looked down at Lira.  She was shaking her head at him, but her eyes were turned up at the edges once more, and Loki thought that it was _so nice_ to see an expression on her that wasn’t the hollowness, or the monster.  He felt so young and light as air, and Loki found himself wondering: Was this how it could have been?  Instead of standing in the shadows of the city he had destroyed, could he have been walking openly at the side of his brother, with Thor excitedly trying to describe just why he liked this strange, small realm?  Could Loki have been nudging _Thor’s_ arm, like he had done so often when they were children?

The sun was hot on his face, but as he pondered, a creeping cloud of gloom seemed to fill the edges of vision and his smile faded.  The humans milling about in front of him blurred together until he could barely see their faces.  They looked so small and vulnerable, and he was so strong--how he had loved making them tremble on their knees before him.  Thor’s beloved humans… How could creatures so useless fill up such a large part of his false brother’s heart?

Something nudged his arm, scattering his thoughts like birds.  For a wild moment, he thought it _was_ Thor, but, of course, it wasn’t--it was the god-killer once again.  She was pointing at the old man at the hot dog stand who looked like he had finally given up and settled on the _red_ squeeze bottle.  He was muttering angrily to himself as he poised the bottle over his hot dog (Loki thought he heard him say something like, “A hot dog without mustard is not a hot dog.”), and Loki couldn’t help it--his breath caught in his chest in anticipation.  What was Lira going to do?  The old man squeezed the bottle and nothing was out of the ordinary this time--the red liquid squirted out onto his hot dog, taking the man by surprise.  Loki snorted at the man’s expression but then narrowed his eyes: that... wasn’t what Loki had been expecting.  Lira’s elbow nudged him again, and Loki wanted to bat her arm away (was he always this annoying when he did that?), but he kept his eyes on her subject.  The old man had brought the “not a hot dog” to his mouth and was just about to take a bite, _when_ \-- The hot dog seemed to rear up in the bun like a snake.  A tiny opening that resembled a mouth appeared on the hot dog, and suddenly it was barking and growling at the old man like a living beast.  The man’s jaw dropped as the hot dog launched itself at him and smacked him in the head, smearing his face with ketchup.  Looking petrified, the man dropped the bun and started running, but the now-sentient hot dog followed him, chasing him down the street in mid-air while continuing to bark and snap against his head.  And to top it all off, none of the other humans paid the man any mind.

Lira had stepped out into the middle of the sidewalk.  She was doubled over and clutching her stomach in an unmistakable fit of silent giggles, a smile winking in her golden eyes, and Loki couldn’t help himself.   His mouth opened, and he _laughed._

Unwittingly, it burst out of him, wild and joyous, as if he hadn’t laughed-- _truly laughed_ \--for years.

And he hadn’t.

He stepped to her side and the endlessly moving crowd had to walk around them, their glares having no effect on the two strange lunatics blocking their way.  The air was full of two types of laughter, one silent but unmistakable, one clear and light as a bell.  Shoulders shook, eyes danced, and though the cold, gray towers loomed like a cage all around them, Loki’s world was suddenly warmer and brighter, as if he was back in his realm, in his _home_ , and not in the city that hated him.

In fact, he was laughing _so_ hard that he didn’t realize he was stepping right into a rather large, solid person until he did so and was suddenly face to face with--

_Thor._

There he was, the God of Thunder, standing almost nose to nose with him, and it took Loki all he had to keep his face from twisting into an expression of shocked recognition.   _Shit!_ Loki thought to himself as he tried to remember how a Midgardian would react to running into someone like this. _Shit, shit, shit!_ Thor was staring at him, a faintly scrutinizing expression causing lines to appear on his otherwise perfect fucking face.  And worse still was that his false brother was not alone: a diminutive, brunette-haired female (that Loki hated to admit was attractive) was standing right next to him and sporting the same confused expression.  Loki recognized her immediately: the Midgardian that had caused his brother to fall in love with this measly human realm.  If Thor _hadn’t_ meet this woman, would this moment still have been the same?

Immediately, Loki smoothly backed up.  “My apologies,” he murmured, ducking his head as he slipped past them.  Should he have made his voice higher? _Shit!_   _Shit, shit--_

Loki risked a glance over his shoulder.  The pair was still peering at him, Thor in confusion, the woman suspiciously.  But they were letting him walk away, and Loki almost shook his head, marveling at his dumb luck (and his similarly dim-witted brother).  He had gone only about ten feet when he risked another glance back and knew immediately that he shouldn’t have: The woman was tugging on Thor’s sleeve and pointing at him, and Thor was turning around again, his eyes clearing, _when_ \--

“Oh my god, _look!”_

The excited cry that split the air was followed by a chorus of nearly-identical gasps and cries.  A large group of young girls wearing matching school uniforms had descended upon Thor.  They surrounded him, sneaking touches, taking pictures, asking for his autograph.  The wonder and devotion were bright in their eyes, and even though they ending up being a helpful distraction, Loki had to turn away.  His stood still in the middle of the sidewalk, the sea of humans blindly following the current around him.  They couldn’t see him.  They didn’t care.  But why would they?  He was nothing.

Loki’s mouth twisted.  He snapped his fingers and his magic obeyed his unspoken command without hesitation.  Thor had never understood Loki’s interest in magic… much to his ongoing _detriment_.

Thor hadn’t been wearing his Asgardian regalia.  Instead, he was sporting shiny black trousers and a long maroon overcoat.  Loki had thought he looked ridiculous.   _Something_ had to be done.

There were gasps from the crowd.  Loki turned around slowly, savoring the shocked expressions on the humans around him.  When he had finally matched the gaze of everyone else, it took all his self-control not to laugh out loud.  There was Thor, standing there surrounded by his adoring fans… except now he was naked.  The expressions of the gaggle of young girls were the first to alert the Thunderer that something was wrong, and as Thor danced around trying in vain to cover himself, even his beloved Midgardian was too shocked to do anything but stare.

As Loki started to slink away, he felt like the smile on his face would never leave.  There was quite a furor behind him now, and several people rushed past him, their cameras in their hands.  The sun was once again glinting off of the steel and glass surfaces of the city.  Maybe Loki was starting to see why Thor liked this place so much...

“I believe I win,” Loki announced smugly, looking down for Lira, but…

She wasn’t there.

His head whipped around.  She wasn’t there.  She wasn’t anywhere.  Where had she gone?

He opened his mind.

_ <Lira.> _

_Nothing_.

Surrounded by hundreds of living, breathing creatures and he was alone.

He started walking again, ignoring the protests of the people he roughly pushed aside.  All the faces looked the same; none of them mattered except for the one he was searching for.  The one he recognized, who knew him, too-- _except_ , he realized with a jolt, he _didn’t_ know how she looked like, not fully, and he never would.  He wore his chaos on the inside and that allowed him to hide, but the god-killer…  She didn’t have that luxury.  While it was his _actions_ that caused people to reject him, with Lira, it was simply automatic: her very _face_ was the chaos, the difference, the fear-bringer.   And Loki… Loki needed to find her.

He was getting tired of being crowded by so many people, so when he spotted a line of trees up ahead, he started walking that way without hesitation.  Soon, the crowd thinned and the trees parted to reveal a massive stretch of green: it was a park, beautiful and alive, an oasis in the middle of a cold, dead city.  There were humans here, too, but they weren’t as packed together.  Some where running down paths that snaked their way across the ground.  Others were milling about, taking in the sights or lying lazily on top of the grass, books in their hands.  He walked past them quickly, skimming their thoughts as he went and growing increasingly annoyed as he did so.  Once more, he called Lira’s name in his mind, and once more, he got nothing.  He kept walking.

There was music up ahead, jarring, discordant, Earth music.  Loki hadn’t recognized it at first, having been unable to distinguish it from mere noise.  But still, he found himself walking towards it, and as he cleared a line of trees and his view opened up, he found himself stopping in surprise.  Disturbing the peaceful beauty of the park was a large, black stage--the source of the the ear-piercing music that humans seemed so fond of.  It was some sort of concert featuring a young woman with blonde hair and garish attire.  She was singing into some strange stick that amplified her voice, and Loki thought that it wasn’t an _awful_ voice, but he could use less of the clamoring instruments that surrounded her.  But it appeared that he was the only one with this opinion, for the ground beneath the stage was so packed with humans, he couldn’t see the grass.  Their energy was palpable; they were clearly enjoying the show.  But some sort of commotion was happening in the middle of the crowd, causing a disjointed ripple to spread throughout their homogeneous swaying.  As the ripple neared him and the sea of humans parted with looks of annoyance, Loki stared.  It was _Lira_.

She was dancing.

She was zooming around, her arms spread out to the side, and Loki remembered her daydream, the one in her memory, and how it had felt like to dance as her.  How it had felt like flying.  How it had helped distract her from what she was doing.  Was this what she imagined every time she killed?  It had to be.  And yet, despite that terrible association, she could still find it in herself to do it--she could still do what she loved: _dance_.

Her eyes were closed so she couldn’t see the humans scurrying out of her way, and Loki found himself smiling, _really_ smiling, as if all his other smiles had been counterfeit--smiles with strings attached.  Was she happy? Loki wondered.  Was this happiness?  He didn’t know.  But soon his feet were carrying him down the slope and towards the crowd.  Unconsciously, he called on his magic, and his clothes changed to ones reminiscent of what he had once seen in a Migardian history book (and actually liked): a black cut-in tailcoat that was long-bodied and sleek, a crisp white dress shirt that matched his gloves, and black trousers that were impeccably tailored.  He knew he looked a sight for his clothes couldn’t have been _more_ opposite than what the humans were wearing--but he didn’t care.  His focus was only on one person.  As he approached her, he flicked his wrist and a trio of fairy lights flew from his fingers to surround her.  The lights converged together, and suddenly, _her_ clothes changed.  Gone was the ratty white smock that signaled her servitude.  In its place was a shiny black dress made of the richest silks and velvets.  It had a wide, full skirt, long ruffled sleeves, and a high neck, and it fitted her lithe form perfectly.  Her mask had also changed--now it was long and black and jeweled, and it sparkled when she moved.   Back in Asgard, in the presence of her former master, the ragged mask she wore had been a mark of degradation, a constant reminder of her pain.  But here, now, it was a mystery, a surprise.   _Power_.  It framed her face so that all focus was on her eyes, the eyes that could kill a god.  The power, Loki was sure, that could destroy a world.

Her eyes had snapped open the moment she felt her clothes change.  She was looking down at herself in amazement, hesitantly touching the smooth fabric, but soon Loki was in front of her.  Gracefully, he bent himself at the waist and swept an arm out to the side.  “My lady,” he murmured, “may I have this dance?”

She was staring at him, eyes like saucers, and he couldn’t help but grin at her as he grabbed her hand and slung an arm around her waist.  Despite the confusion of the crowd, the music was still playing, and Loki thought it would have to do.  They started to dance.  He was leading, and she had tripped over her feet for a few seconds, but soon she was sweeping alongside him, her eyes looking up at him in wonder.  For a brief moment, Loki couldn’t believe that this awful Midgardian music allowed them to dance in such a lovely manner, but then he was looking down at Lira and all distracting thoughts vanished.  Soon there were several couples dancing with them, following his lead, and as he and the girl swirled in the middle of them, Loki didn’t know how to feel.

As the other dancers came to a stop and the crowd burst into applause, Loki slowly realized that the song had ended.  Still, he held her, wondering (hoping?) if another song would start up.

But there wasn’t going to be another song.

“Loki!  _What are you doing here?”_

Immediately, Loki looked up and scowled.  He wasn’t even surprised this time.  There was Thor, floating in the air above him, holding Mjolnir and decked out in his Asgardian garb, looking very much like a god of legend.

Loki didn’t drop Lira’s hand.

“I’m _dancing._  What does it look like I’m doing?” he snapped.

At this, Thor’s features arranged themselves into an expression Loki had seen many times before: pure, unadulterated _bewilderment_.  Loki laughed.

“I see Mjolnir brought you some clothes.  What a good little hammer--”

“You’re not supposed to be here, Loki,” Thor said roughly.  “You’re supposed to be…”  He struggled to find the words.  “Home.”

“‘Home,’” Loki repeated with a scoff.  “You mean my cell.”

Thor had landed on the ground some twenty feet away and was slowly walking towards him.  It was hard to tell under all the armor, but his shoulders seemed to raise and lower in a large sigh.  “That was your own doing,” Thor replied solemnly, pointing Mjolnir at him.

“Oh, yes, yes, of course,” Loki said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  He could just barely sense the crowd dispersing behind him.  Was someone protecting them?  Leading them to safety?  One of Thor’s new friends, perhaps?

Thor was shaking his head, his eyes sad.  He lowered his voice and Loki almost laughed to himself--He didn’t know his false brother knew how to whisper!  “Do you know how many people you’ve killed?”

_Yes.  Every one._

“Do _you?”_ Loki said instead, dropping Lira’s arms.  “Isn’t that what being an Asgardian is all about?  Warring, defeating, _murdering?_  What did Father say once?  Oh yes: ‘Asgardians are warriors.  The battlefield calls to us, and while we inhabit it, our blood sings of glory and honor and might.’  Have you snuck a peek at your kill list lately?  Or have you forced yourself to forget?  Well, let me remind you: The Marauders, the Minotaur--”  Here, Loki’s face split into a harsh smile.  “The Frost Giants.  And so many others.  Yes, it’s easy to forget the act of killing when one views one’s victims as only _animals--_ ”

“Those weren’t the same,” Thor interjected, anger coloring his voice for the first time. “And you know it.  Each time, Asgard was under siege.  If we hadn’t stopped them, Asgard would have been destroyed.”

“But it’s still killing, isn’t it?  I wasn’t aware there were two kinds of killing: the kind that kept you up at night and the kind that didn’t.”

“Loki--”

“Have you ever asked Father about his kill count?  Maybe he and I could compare lists--”

" _Loki_ ,” Thor’s voice boomed, and Loki had never heard him speak his name in such a way.  “There is to be no more talking and no more games.  You are coming home.   _Now.”_

Loki shook his head.  This was it.  Their final fight.  There would be no holding back.  He had sworn to himself that he would never be a prisoner again, and he certainly wasn’t going to break that promise so soon.

“Do us all a favor and come quietly, Loki,” a familiar-sounding male voice called behind him.  “Or don't, if you want your ass handed to you again.”

Loki barely had to turn his head to recognize the Midgardian whom he had placed under his control during his last visit: The Hawk.  Now he realized that the park was completely empty, except for Thor and his _new friends._  There, to his left, was the Patriot, his gaudy, star-spangled shield shining on his arm.  To his right was the only woman who had ever tricked him: The Russian. Oh, he would get her back for that.  And above him was--

“Hey, Dirty Dancing, can we make this quick?  I’m missing brunch.”

Ah, yes, the Man in Iron--Loki’s _favorite_.  He turned back to Thor, his smile mocking.

“I see you’ve invited your new friends.  There’s one missing, though, isn’t there?”  Loki laughed, a harsh, wrenching sound.  “Too bad.  If the monster was here with you, maybe _then_ it’d be a fair fight.”

“You didn’t seem too worried about things being fair when you were commanding an alien army to attack us,” replied the Patriot, ever the stoic.

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki saw Lira shift beside him, and he smiled.  “I meant for you.”

His heart was thundering in his ears now, and he balled his hands into fists.  This was his purpose.  This was his destiny, and he was ready for it.

_ <Loki.> _

It took him a moment to realize that this was the first time Lira had said his name.  He frowned, distracted.

_ <What?> _

_ <Your plan.> _

_ <My what?> _

_ <Is this how you had envisioned it?> _

Loki stared at the scene before him.  No, this was _not_ how he had envisioned it happening.  This was _not_ what he had spent _so long_ planning, incessantly forcing his pain to the surface of his mind so he would stay focused.  He didn’t want to admit it, but it was true--the stage was set, the audience was seated, but the pieces were all out of place.  He gritted his teeth.

_ <Get us out of here.> _

Lira grabbed his hand.  As the transportation spell dissolved his surroundings, the only small zing of happiness he felt was to see the faces of Thor and the Avengers struck dumb with surprise.  He had disappeared right out from under their noses.  He should be elated, but for some reason, he wasn’t.  Even though he knew that running like this wasn’t a defeat, he couldn’t help but feel a bit discouraged.

****

When the pair materialized, Lira stumbled and grabbed his hand again.  He let her right herself before letting go and looking around.  She had transported them to another part of town, one that seemed darker with hardly any green.  There were buildings all around them, but they weren’t the colossal steel ones like earlier.  These weren’t even half as tall; instead their length was found horizontally, stretching down the street for as far as Loki could see.  Hundred of bricks decorated their surfaces, and their windows were dingy and hard to see through.  They were factories, or at least they used to be.  Now it seemed this once-industrial area had been gentrified--instead of workers wearing ragged clothes and carrying the weight of their problems on their backs, there were throngs of beautiful people, laughing and walking down the street arm in arm, dressed in what was no doubt the most current of fashions.  Loki relaxed.  He understood these kinds of people.  They were night creatures--creatures who felt better in the dark or in disguise, their true selves much smaller than the personalities they showed the world.  Loki didn't care about what they were or what they weren't.  He only wanted to go where they went to lose themselves, for that was what _he_ wanted to do (to not think, to not feel), and these were the people who always knew the best bars.

As Loki started walking towards a building with colorful neon lights and a carpet stretching out the door, he quietly marveled at how Lira had known exactly where to take him, like she could read his thoughts.  But she _could_ , couldn’t she?  Was she reading his thoughts now?  Was he ever truly alone?

_I don't want anyone in my head except for me_ , he growled to himself as he walked.  His clothes were changing, and so were Lira’s, reverting back to what they were before they had danced.  Why had he even done that, dance with her like some love-struck fool?  She was just a thing.  A killer.  A means to an end.  Nothing more.  _She would kill me, if she could_ , he reminded himself. _What am I to her, except a cage?  What am I to anyone besides failure, a poor choice hastily made, a monster?_

He nodded to himself.  Yes, he was a monster.  And he would show everyone how monstrous he could be.

But first…

It was time to get drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I had first thought of the scene where Loki and Lira dance, I had envisioned them dancing to Elle Goulding's "Anything Could Happen."


	11. A Beast Apart

The inside of the club was almost completely different from its outside.  Yes, the same bricks found on the building’s facade still adorned the walls, and the metal support beams and large open spaces offered a peek at the building’s more humble beginnings.  But the atmosphere was certainly _not_ of loud machinery, low spirits, and endlessly moving assembly lines.  It was dark but there were lights everywhere, casting the club aglow in shades of purple, green, and blue.  The decor was sleek-looking and not meant for long stays, and the floor plan was open--this club was built for movement.  There were several bars and just as many dance floors.  Here, on the inside, one could get completely lost in this other-world of color, light, and fantasy.

Given that it was just mid-day, the club was not yet filled to the brim with lost souls, but Loki didn’t mind--he knew he was going to be here a long time.  After giving the club a once-over, he sidled up to one of the bars.  When a marginally attractive-looking bartender sauntered over, Loki cast a mind trick that had the man pouring him a glass of clear liquid without a word.  A neon sign on the wall read “Fuck water, drink champagne,” and Loki couldn’t agree more.  He toasted the air and downed the glass in one go.

There was music playing (more horrendously loud Earth music), and he could see Lira looking longingly at an all-but-empty dance floor.  _ <Go.> _he thought to her.  She turned to look at him, eyes wide and bright as sunlight, and then skipped away.  He watched her dance for awhile until he willed his eyes to blur and his mind to empty.  On his own, he could never truly quiet his mind, but after twenty-three shots of vodka and twelve glasses of champagne, he was starting to feel a wonderfully familiar calm.

He didn’t know how much time had passed until he was back to watching Lira.  She leaped and twirled around the dance floor, just like he had seen her do in Odin’s throne room.  Odin…  Loki had started making a tower out of his collection of empty shot glasses, resolving to make it look like Odin’s palace when he had enough glassware to work with.

Odin’s palace.  His fake home.  Odin.  Father Of All Lies.  To think that _he_ was supposed to be the God of Lies.  He scoffed to himself and downed another glass.

It was then that he noticed a pair of eyes on him.  They belonged to a human female sitting alone at the other end of the bar.  She was quite lovely (for a Midgardian), and Loki’s hooded-gaze lingered over the redness of her lips and the tightness of her clothes.  He raised his glass and took a sip, never breaking eye contact.  Finally, she seemed to smile, and after tossing her column of blonde hair over a bare shoulder, she stood up and slowly approached him.  No words were spoken when she reached him.  Lazily, he rose to his feet and faced her, pleased to see that she was quite tall, only having to tilt her head slightly to look up at him.  With her mouth still upturned at the edges, she nodded her head to a doorway a few feet away; without waiting for a reaction, she turned and walked off.  Loki watched her go, eyes lingering on the lovely length of her legs, before sauntering after her.  They had gone into a smaller room that was just as dark and noisy but had columns of white curtains clutching the walls.  Here, she led him to one of the curtains (looking back every once in awhile to see if he was still there) and ducked inside.  He followed.

Now that he was close to her, he could see that her beauty wasn’t a ruse and that her clothes were rich and well-tailored.  He ran his hands up the silkiness of her black dress, feeling the supple curves of her body, and her smile grew wider.  With both hands on the sides of his head, she guided him down to meet her, and her kiss was thrilling and completely untroubled.  What an easy life she must lead, Loki thought idly as he returned the kiss, his fingers moving her hips closer to his.  In their little cocoon, it was so easy to forget all manner of time and space, and he didn’t know how long he had been kissing her until he was moving her panties aside and thrusting inside her, thoroughly enjoying her eyes open wide in surprise.  He didn’t care if she was a human--he wasn’t in the mood to be gentle.  At first, she had closed her eyes and leaned back into the wall, but soon, she was looking fiercely at him once more, grasping the sides of his face and moving with him.  The music was loud in their ears and Loki didn’t know if the feeling he felt in his body was the booming bass frequency or the pounding of his heart.  There was a buildup inside of him, and his fingers dug into her as he savored the blissful feeling of his mind going completely blank.  He couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel and it was _wonderful_.  Even though it was all over too soon, he was feeling generous so he kept going until she finished, her gasps and moans inaudible over the sounds of the music.  When they disentangled and she had slipped out from the curtain and out of his life with a wink, Loki thought about how he would never know the sound of her voice.

He had sex with two other women before he was bored and back at his place at the bar.  By now, the crowd had thickened and he was surrounded by beautiful people in tight clothing.  The dance floor was so crowded, he couldn't see Lira at all.  Was she even still here? he wondered, his thoughts sluggish.  He felt his eyes start to droop and he shook himself and grabbed another glass.  He downed three shots in a row before he saw her.

Her clothes were ratty and her was wild, but she was still a sight, her lack of inhibition giving her moves a natural, nymph-like quality.  Even though he had done all he could to quiet his mind, it rose up again, spitting out memories against his will.  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, _he_ was dancing.

There was paint on his face and feathers in his hair.  He spread his arms and the hundreds of feathers attached to them cleaved through the air making him feel weightless.  A pounding rhythm of drums and guttural voices were in his ears, compelling him to dance faster, and he felt so alive.

He was Lira and he was dancing like she danced, feeling what she felt.  He was Loki, he was Lira--he couldn't’ tell, but it didn't matter.

Odin’s throne room…

When he had first seen Lira’s beautiful, murderous dance.

It seemed so long ago, but he would see it again soon.

When he was holding the heart of a Skyfather in his hands.

There was a build up inside him, but it wasn't pleasure.  It was _power_ , charging up, reacting to the emotions in his chest like a transistor.  It shot through him like electricity, making him want to dance even harder.  Fiercely, his swirled the wings around himself, and the feathers whipped through the air.  All this power…  It was so much, it was starting to feel painful.  His hands began to itch, and then his arms, his legs, his body--before long, he felt like he was on _fire_.  There was a pounding in his ears, growing in volume until it was even louder than the drums, and finally, Loki couldn't take it anymore--he had to act.

He was Lira, and he had set the club on fire.

The floor, the ceiling, the furniture, the walls--everything was burning, casting the whole room in a sickly, red glow.  The smoke stung his eyes, and if he hadn’t been who he was, he would hardly be able to see.  But the humans… the humans couldn’t see.

They were screaming and running blindly through the smoke and flames, trying desperately to flee.  Several were already on fire, their flaming bodies writhing through the smoke like demons.  The ceiling had started to cave in, and a large wooden beam hit the floor in a shower of sparks, crushing several humans and trapping the rest.  Near the front doors was a crazed throng of people, pushing and trampling each other in their haste to escape.

But the doors weren’t opening.  He had locked them all in.

Loki clutched at the sides of his face.

_No…_

No… this wasn’t what he had wanted!

Not again…

He was Lira, and as her, he fell to his knees.

They were all going to die because of him, because of her.

Not again…

Not--

Loki opened his eyes.  He sat up quickly, the echo of screams still in his ears, and his elbow knocked over a tower of shot glasses.  For one distressing moment, he felt like he was two people: Loki, trying to drown himself in the numbness he hated, and Lira, trying to convince herself that she was more than a killer--but the pain was the same.  He had entered into this other-world hoping to lose himself, but all he had lost were the blinders, the scales from his eyes.  

He had chosen this.  He had chosen everything.  He had never not been in control.

And neither had Lira.

Slowly, the two halves within him converged and he looked up.  Blearily, he could just make out the bar in front of him, the dance floor behind him, and the neon lights.  He blinked and soon the sound of the club was rushing back to him--and it wasn’t screams.  It was music.  And talking.   _People_.  He sighed in relief and then cursed his softheartedness.

_ <You’re awake.  I’ve been waiting here for you for two hours.  You really know how to show a girl a good time.> _

Lira, sitting two bar stools away from him and swirling a straw around an untouched drink.

_ <You missed me.  I did this move that’s apparently called ‘The Snake.’  The crowd loved it.> _

_The crowd._  They were everywhere, milling around them, laughing, drinking, dancing, and utterly _alive_ \--not at all like his dream.  He--Lira--hadn’t murdered them, but still he couldn’t look at her.

_ <Helloooo.  Is my master in there?> _

“Hey, _you_ ,” interjected a gruff voice.  A larger man with a rough-looking demeanor was staring down at him, his arms crossed.  Loki swayed in his seat as he squinted up at him.

“I’ve been watching you,” the man said, moving to fill his personal space.  “What’s this, fifty shot glasses?  More?”  The stranger shook his head.  “I don’t believe it.  You must be sneaking drinks to someone else.”  Suddenly, the man grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him backwards off of the stool as if he was a doll.  “And now it’s time to go.”

“Get your filthy human hands off me!” Loki slurred.  He tried to push the man away but ended up tripping over nothing and falling to the floor.

“Get up, I’m cutting you off.”

“How _dare_ you tell me what to do!  I am a _god_ \--”

“That’s nice.  Well you’re about to be the god of Your Ass Is Out Of My Club.”

“Gerroff!”

And before Loki knew it, he was outside the club in the middle of the sidewalk… on his ass.  There were humans walking around him, giving him strange looks.  He wanted to go back inside, teach that insolent human a lesson, but soon Lira had entered his line of sight.  She leaned over him, her eyes glinting with amusement.

_ <I’m assuming you didn't want any help with that, or you would’ve said something.> _

“Where were you?” he grumbled angrily.  She offered a hand to help him to his feet, but he didn’t take it.

 _ <I was, you know, around.  I didn’t want to interrupt how _ eloquently _you were giving that man a piece of your mind.  Yes, I truly have the smartest, most elegant master in all the land. > _

Loki sighed but it came out more like a growl.  He was starting to feel a headache form behind his eyes, and his heady buzz was slowly evaporating in the chill air.  A snarky Lira was not what he needed right now.

_ <Where to now, Master?> _

Loki didn’t answer.  Instead, he picked a direction and started walking.  After a moment, the soft patter of Lira’s feet followed him.

_ <You know what would make you feel better, Master?> _

“Blowing up a hospital?”

_ <Drinking more.> _

Loki couldn't argue with that, and a second later, a bottle of wine appeared out of thin air and he grabbed it.  He probably shouldn't have magicked a bottle from Dionysus’ personal collection, but he was feeling reckless.  He uncorked the bottle and took a long sip, resolving to steal from that prick more often.

He didn’t know how long he had walked, grumbling and talking to himself, with Lira trailing him like his shadow.  He had just tossed his fifth (seventh?  He had lost track) empty bottle to the ground when he suddenly ran out of sidewalk.  Startled, he windmilled his arms, trying not to fall forward and actually succeeding.

He was standing on the edge of the world.  

During his whole visit to Midgard, there had been buildings surrounding him, tall, regal, staring him down.  But now there were only the ghosts.  The once-great skyscrapers of New York had been reduced to debris.  The ground before him was littered with trash, tangled up pieces of steel, and rubble, and there were no humans in sight.  The few buildings that were still standing looked like their exteriors had been completely wrenched off.  Wiped clean, like people without faces.  And still they stared at him.  As he felt Lira come up beside him, he couldn’t look at her.

_ <Whoa.  What happened here?> _

“Me,” Loki whispered.

Lira was quiet for a long moment.  But soon she was back, her thought-speak trying too hard to sound casual.

 _ <Hmm.  I think your remodeling skills could use some work, Master.  Typically when people want to redecorate, they’d like to have an _ actual _structure to work with.  One that’s actually standing and not rubble, you know? > _

“Why are you so chatty, all of a sudden?” Loki snapped.  “I torture my way into your mind, and you react by, what?  Wanting to be _friends?”_

Even though he was still not looking at her, he could feel her shrug.

_ <I’ve lived through worse torture.> _

Loki shook his head, feeling oddly letdown and hating himself for it.  He didn’t know what he had wanted her to say.

_ <But… I just thought you could use one.> _

“One what?” he spat.

_ <A friend.> _

Loki laughed, a terrible, twisted sound.  “We are not friends.”

_ <True.  But I know you and you know me, and maybe that’s enough.> _

Loki was falling.  Falling through a nightmare of nothingness, an endless yawning chasm that swallowed up any sound or flicker of light.  He was falling, with nothing but his black heart for company.  Soon, the nothingness would swallow him up completely, absorb him into its cold embrace, for what was he but nothing, too?

_I know you._

A light, a pinprick in the darkness.

A hand, reaching out to grab him.

_And you know me._

Steady him.

Hold him.

Through the darkness fell the monster, but now he wasn’t alone.

There came a massive rumbling, like a great beast waking up from an eternity of sleep.  Loki shook his head, trying to focus his vision.  It was the _buildings_ \--they were coming alive.

Slowly, Loki turned to look at the girl.  She had a hand raised out in front her, and light was sparkling like fire in her palm.  But it wasn’t fire.  She was _undoing_.  The buildings were righting themselves, the wreckage swooping back into place like he was watching a movie in reverse.  The destroyer was rebuilding, and before too long, Loki had raised his hand, too.

And as the last brick reverted back into place, something hit him hard from behind, and the blackness swooped up to take him.

****

Loki awoke to the biggest hangover of his life.

“Uuugghhh,” he mumbled, the dryness in his throat causing him to swallow involuntarily.  His head felt like that time in his youth when Thor had sat on it and refused to move for days.  But anger didn't follow that embarrassing memory like it normally would--he was too fatigued to be angry.  In fact, he was so hungover that it took him several minutes to realize that he was not simply lying on the ground in a Midgardian alley somewhere.  As it turned out, he wasn’t outside--or free--at all.

He was naked and kneeling on a cold stone floor.  His arms were spread-eagled, stretched so tightly that his shoulder muscles ached, and his wrists were fettered to a back wall that rose high above him.  The room itself was windowless, with large black tiles lining the floor, walls, and ceiling, and it was just wide enough to house himself and some sort of strange contraption that stood in the shadows to his right.  Every so often, a soft pinging sound would emanate from the contraption, sounding like the _drip-drip-drip_ of a faucet.  Blearily, he squinted until the outline of the structure came into view.

It was.... hard to define.  Loki had never seen such a thing.  It rose up into the air, a series of supports, drive shafts, and cogs made of black cast iron.  At the very top of the contraption was a large basin that hovered over him, and he realized that this was the source of the odd pinging sound: the basin must have been collecting water or some other liquid that dripped from a hole in the ceiling.  He looked down at the floor and noticed that a wide groove surrounded him, cut deeply into the tile.   _Strange..._

When nothing happened for several minutes, Loki’s splitting headache forced him to turn his attention back to his aching body, and he closed his eyes with a resigned sigh.

“Ah, fuck,” he muttered, hanging his head.  He had no idea where he was.  The last thing he remembered was stumbling down a crowded Migardian street with Lira at his side.  In his mind’s eye, he could see himself magicking bottle after bottle, right out of thin air.   _Last time, Loki_ , he chided himself. _No more Greek wine._  He didn’t know how he had come to be restrained in such an odd, irritating way, but he wasn’t concerned.  Not with his magic back.  And with Lira by his side.

_Wait..._

Without thinking, his head snapped around and he grimaced as pain stabbed his brow.  Lira wasn’t there.  He twisted his torso as much as he could, his eyes scanning the walls and searching a ceiling whose apex he could not see.  Where could she be?

“Lira,” he called.  He could only manage a scratchy-sounding murmur, but he knew that their bond allowed her to hear whatever summons he made.  When he didn’t receive an answer, he tried calling to her in his mind.  Still he heard nothing and what little color he had left his face.  Her absence felt like a physical thing--like an attack, a fist to his skull, a punch to his chest--and it left him reeling.   _Then_ it left him hollow and his breath hitched in painful surprise.  Was he to believe that her presence had been a… comforting one, all this time?  His emotions flailed in confusion, and not knowing what else to do or think, he called for her again in his mind.  Nothing.

 _And no one._   

By now Loki was feeling as if even her monstrous voice would soothe him, the one that tore his mind and body apart.   _Anything_ was better than his current emotional state, the crushing thoughts of loneliness that reminded him of his childhood (and of his time in the God-Jewel).  But no, the only sound in his ears was the slow drip above him, and it forced his eyes up to it once more.  Now, he noticed that the basin was rocking slightly, the liquid within causing it to sway as it neared capacity.  In another moment or two, it would be full.   _But full of what?  And why?_

Loki suddenly had a strong desire to leave this place.  With the realization that Lira could not hear him (or wasn't answering), the fogginess in his mind dispersed, and he became very alert.  Forcefully, he tugged at his bonds; they clanged loudly against the back wall but did not come loose.

“Enough of this,” he growled.  His gaze turned inward, and once again, he was greeted by a raging green fire that did wonders to reassure him.  His magic was ready.  Mentally, he was reaching towards it, stirring it, gathering it, and he smiled as he felt his hands warm as his magic spilled into them.  He was confident that in another minute he would be free of this prison, just like before, just like _every_ time, and he’d be able to enact vengeance on whoever it was that had dared to try imprison him.  He, Loki of Asgard, was no captive.  Not to the House of Odin, not to the Avengers, not to the Chitauri, and certainly not to Midgardians and any of their laughably weak sorcerers.  He hoped that it _was_ Migardians who had done this to him; they were so wonderfully easy to kill.  A part of him even hoped that Thor was with them, that it was his brother’s new friends who were responsible, and Loki’s magic thrummed excitedly at the thought.  But before he could unleash his power, his attention was diverted and the spellwords dissipated from his mind.

The basin had begun to move.

With a loud creaking sound, the contraption sprung to life.  Slowly at first (but then faster and faster) the cogs began to spin, and the basin trembled as it started descending towards him.  He stared at it, unable to look away.  The basin neared, its shadow growing large over his kneeling form, and just when he thought it might collide with him, it jerked to the right and began pouring a sickly-looking green liquid into the groove on the floor.  The liquid sizzled as it touched the stone then quickly spread to lap against the channel’s edges.  But the groove captured all of it, and soon the basin was righting itself and ascending once more.  

Ascending... _slowly._

_Drip._

Without the basin to catch it, a drop of liquid had fallen from the hole in the ceiling to land near his knees.

_Drip._

Another one fell, closer this time.

_Drip._

_Drip--_

Loki screamed.   _Pain_ , terrible burning pain erupted all over his body as the liquid hit him again and again.  It was the most horrible thing he had ever felt, like a thousand tortures contained in each drop.  It felt like a sword to his flesh, like he was being burned alive, like his skin was being flayed from his body--surely his skin was gone--it was like acid--like he was being electrocuted, the pain sizzling over him each time the liquid struck.  It was agony, he was screaming, writhing, he was--

 _Dying_.  He had to be dying.

A second before he blacked out, he could hear the basin lock into place above him, catching the liquid once more--but it was already too late.  His eyes rolled up into his head, and his arms sagged against his bonds.

He was not dead.  Far from it, in fact.  But soon, when he would awaken, he would wish, for the first time in his life, that he was--truly-- _dead_.


	12. Fight Not With Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I realize that I probably should give Odin more characterization, to try and make him less of an ass.
> 
>  
> 
> *Trigger warning: mention of non-explicit rape.

“It’s inhumane.”

Steve Rogers was trying not to clench his teeth, his fists, _anything_ , in frustration.  At his words, every eye in the room that had been on him had darted away.  Well, not _all_ of them.  Tony Stark and Clint Barton, the only ones actually seated at the conference table, hadn’t even been looking at him to begin with.  They seemed to do that often, not look him in the eye when he spoke, and it bothered him to no end.  It just wasn’t how he was raised.  But, at this very moment, their lack of attention _wasn’t_ what was actually bothering him.  As Loki’s screams had echoed distantly down the corridor, Steve had noticed a satisfied glance pass between the two men.  Steve had recognized the look immediately, for, _despite_ his upbringing, he had felt a tremor of the same feeling himself.  And _that_ was what troubled him.

Nick Fury was the first to break the silence, and Steve was not surprised.  “May I remind you, Captain, that Dr. Strange told us that his little contraption was the most effective way of keeping Loki locked up.”  Unlike the others, Fury’s one bright eye was staring straight at him.  “The pain it causes is necessary.  It keeps Loki sedated so that he can’t magic his way out of here.  Like last time.”

_Like last time._

_Now_ Steve had the attention of the men at the table, and Steve could feel his jaw muscle twitch as his teeth finally did clench together.  The inflection in Fury’s voice hadn’t changed at all (in fact, he almost sounded bored), but the implication was there.   _Like last time, when Loki killed Coulson._

_When Loki killed Phil Coulson._

Steve took a deep breath and kept it there between his teeth.  He hadn’t needed the reminder.  Even though this was Avengers Tower and not the Helicarrier, Coulson’s spirit, his memory, seemed infused into the very walls.  Steve thought of him often, but for some reason it was never comforting.

“And you trust this… sorcerer?” Steve asked finally, matching Fury’s stare.

“Admittedly, we don’t have that much information on him,” Fury said.  “But what we do have is compelling.  His knowledge of the mystic arts could equal Loki’s.  It may even surpass it.”  Fury’s tone deepened significantly.  “He’d be a good ally to have on our side.”

Steve wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t.  Again, with the implication; he could almost hear Fury’s voice drawl in his mind: _And it would do well, Captain, to trust the opinions of experts when it comes to matters that you know nothing about.  Like magic.  The Internet.  Gangnam Style._

Okay, he still didn’t understand that last one.

Steve wanted to shake his head but didn’t.  After all this time, his mother’s teachings still held his manners in check.  But he was never one to shy away from saying what he believed.

“Because surely, a neanderthal from the 20th century wouldn’t know a thing about magic,” he said evenly, looking at Fury square in the face.

Fury didn’t flinch.  “That’s not what I said,” he replied simply.

This time Steve _did_ shake his head.  “There has to be another way.”

“Would you rather Loki be… tearing up Manhattan again?  Killing more innocent people?”

“We found him standing in front of a neighborhood that had been _completely_ destroyed during his attack last year.  Except now it wasn’t destroyed.  Did the buildings just fix themselves overnight?”

“Why would Loki want to rebuild what he had destroyed?” questioned Natasha, skepticism bright in her eyes.  “Why would he care?”

Steve shrugged.  “Regret?  To repent?”

“To fool us, is more like it,” Barton said, his finger idly tracing an imaginary line on the table in front of him.  “I am not getting fooled again,” he murmured, as if only to himself.  “We can’t trust him.”

“What about the girl?” asked Natasha.  “You saw her face.  How is she still alive?  Magic, I’m assuming?  And did Loki do that to her?”

At this, Steve found himself shrugging and shaking his head solemnly.  When Natasha had lifted up the girl's mask after Clint had knocked her out with an arrow full of sleeping gas, Steve had felt like he had never seen something so horrible.  It would continue to haunt him, just like Coulson’s memory did.

“What about Asgard?  He’s Asgardian.  We can't keep him here.”

“Sure, let Asgard have him back.  They’re experts on him.”

 _Stark_.  Was there anything that he and Steve saw eye to eye on?

Barton nodded at Stark, and his tone was just as deadpan.  “They did such a good job keeping him imprisoned last time.”

“I want to talk to this Dr. Strange,” Steve said firmly, preparing to not back down, but Fury just shook his head.

“I already called him.  He’s not here.  His housekeeper said something about ‘his spirit being in the Astral Plane,’ whatever that means.”

Steve wanted to pound the table with his fist but didn’t.  A few minutes of silence passed.  Finally, Steve turned to the one individual who had been steadily avoiding everyone’s gaze during this whole exchange.  “Thor, are you okay with this?”

Thor said nothing, but as Loki's screams started up again, Steve thought he saw the Thunder God wince, but he wasn't sure.

“If it keeps my brother from escaping once more… my father has permitted it's use.”

There was silence after this, and it weighed heavily against Steve’s back like a boxing bag.  He was the first to leave the room.

****

Lira awoke but kept her eyes closed.  She didn’t know where she was, but she _did_ know that there were humans hovering above her.  They were talking in hushed tones, and occasionally she would feel a light touch against a part of her face.  It was then when she realized she wasn’t wearing her mask, and she almost bolted upright in anger.  But these humans… They didn’t seem like they were going to harm her.  In fact, did she just hear them say that they were trying to find a way to fix her face?

Lira wanted to shake her head but didn’t.  They couldn’t do it.  There just wasn’t a way.  She knew this.  Still, she appreciated their naive consternation.  Oh, sweet humans.  How could her master hate them so?

 _Sleep_ , she thought as she touched each of their minds with her magic.   _Sleep and have good dreams._

When their breathing slowed and they began to snore, Lira opened her eyes.  She was in a small white room that looked to be some sort of medical area.  Three humans wearing masks and surgeons’ gowns lay huddled together on the ground, sleeping peacefully, their heads on each other's shoulders.  She spotted her mask lying on a nearby counter and she picked it up.   _Hello, old friend_ , she thought solemnly as she wrapped it around herself.  When it was firmly in place, she felt herself relax.

She opened her mind.  Immediately, she could sense Loki’s presence several floors above her.  When she focused on him further, her eyebrows rose.  He was in pain.  Horrible, quaking pain.  So in pain that he wasn't coherent enough to answer her call.  Her eyebrows drew together.  What had Loki done to cause these humans to hate him so much?

 _Wait, stop_ \--she wasn't _supposed_ to think like this, she wasn't supposed to feel, to do _anything_ but obey her master’s command.  She knew what happened when she didn't.  And her master… her master was really counting on her to do her part in his plan.  She couldn't disobey him.  She couldn't let him down.  He was her master, after all, and he loved her.  

...Didn't he?

_He does not love you._

Ah.  That incessant little voice in her mind that got her in trouble, that made her wonder, and think, and _feel_ _things_.  It was that voice that had caused her to lose her face, to talk back to the Enchantress, to defy her.  Well, what did her smart mouth always get her, except pain?

_You could leave.  Escape.  Your master would not know._

Lira shook her head.  If she could laugh at herself, she would.  What a ridiculous thought.  This trip to Earth had been strange; it had made her weird.

Loki had started screaming again.  She couldn't hear it but she could feel it ring in her head as if she was standing right next to him.  Where the humans planning to do the same thing to her?  She snorted.  They could try.  Lock her up across from Loki so that they could see each other's suffering?  At least, they wouldn't have her screams, she thought darkly to herself.  And how different would it be, really, from what she had experienced so many times in the past?  What she was living now?  But Loki… Loki wasn't used to so much pain.  He must have grown up without it, and Lira wondered what his childhood had been like.  Something truly awful must have happened to him to make him the man he was now.

_And you are glad for it._

That traitorous little voice had piped up in her head again, and this time, she couldn't help but feel ashamed.

****

When Steve was stressed, he typically turned to working out.  Steve knew that he was not alone in this regard, that turning to exercise during a stressful time was commonplace, despite how different things were seventy years later.  But when he was feeling something he couldn't quite figure out, he would draw.

He was in his room in Avengers Tower, sitting at a large window seat.  There were several windows in his room, but this was the only one he kept without curtains.  It was usually the first thing his eyes noticed whenever he entered his room, and he liked that.  Stark’s decor didn’t look so terribly modern when it was bathed in a wash of sunlight.  And Steve much preferred natural light to artificial--it somehow reminded him of his childhood.

Steve was in the middle of another sketch of Peggy (this time he was going to draw her with her hair falling slightly over her face) when he felt it: someone was in the room with him.

It was strange what he sensed-- _magic_ was strange and Steve wondered if he would ever get used to the realization that it existed.

“I know you're there,” he said evenly, not looking up.

There was a soft whooshing sound, like a helicopter taking off from a landing pad, and Steve looked up over his notebook.

And he couldn't keep his jaw from dropping.

The _girl_.

She had appeared in his room, used magic to uncloak herself, or _whatever_ , and was casually standing in front of a wall of his drawings, her head tilted back as she looked at them.  Even though she was wearing a piece of white fabric over the bottom portion of her face, a memory of what lay behind it couldn’t help but flash in Steve’s mind.

_ <You draw.> _

Startled, Steve looked around.  Was that a… a _voice_ speaking inside his head?  It had been young and female but also slightly disconcerting, hushed and sharp at the same time.  Steve’s eyes widened.

“Was that you?” he breathed.

Casually, almost sarcastically, she waved a hand in front her mask.

_ <Yep.  I can't speak otherwise.> _

“I’m sorry,” Steve said automatically.  “I didn’t mean any offense.  You just surprised me.”

She didn’t respond, and Steve’s mind went to the communicator that was sitting on the arm of a chair a few feet away.  If he stretched _just_ _so_ he could reach it…

_ <I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.> _

Steve tried to keep himself from jumping in surprise.  “Do what?”

_ <Call your friends.  I really don’t want to have to kill them.> _

At this, all the muscles in Steve’s body tensed, and he could feel the adrenaline within him start to charge, but he forced himself to calm down, making it look like he was relaxing back against the window.  Casually, he started to draw again.

“You read minds?”

_ <Obviously.> _

“Isn’t that.... rude?” Steve asked calmly, and she turned to look at him.  “An invasion of privacy?”  Steve stole a glance at her over the top of his notebook.  There was definitely something alien about her, despite the fact that her clothes were shapeless and he could only see half of her face.  But those eyes… it was like wanting to stare at the sun: _so_ tempting, even though one knew it would burn.

She had come closer to him and swung her legs up on the other end of the window seat like a teenager.  She leaned against the window and crossed her arms (which only resulted in her looking even more like a bored young person).

_ <I don’t care.  I do what I want.> _

Okay, now Steve was certain: she _had_ to be a teenager.

“Do you?” he asked lightly, and she looked away.  Trying to keep his mind blank, he returned to his sketching.  It was quiet for a moment, the tiny _scratch-scratch-scratch_ of his pencil the only sound.

_ <Who’s the woman?> _

Steve’s eyes flew to where she was pointing even though he already knew the answer.  When he hesitated to speak, the girl’s hushed alien voice cut a path through his head again.

_ <Someone you love?> _

Steve could only nod.

 _ <You’re a good artist.  I feel like I know her.> _ 

Something twinged in his heart and a grimace fell from his lips before he could catch it.  Thankfully, the girl didn’t seem to notice.  Casually, she turned back to him.

_ <I like to draw, too.> _

She held out her hands and a moment later, a large, old-looking sketchbook popped out of the air and she caught it.  She moved closer to him and opened the book, and Steve’s eyebrows rose straight into his hairline.  He didn’t know what he was looking at.  There were scenes of what could only be other worlds, and some that didn’t look like worlds at all, with both reminding him of the paintings he had seen in a history book of the art that had come out of the 60s.  Her sketches also had a strangely over-saturated quality, making it seem like they were _breathing_ whenever he moved his head.  She turned towards the middle of the book, and now Steve was looking at portraits, that same extremely life-like quality giving them an eerie tinge, like how some of the paintings in his church of religious figures had made him feel as a kid.  His eyes fell on a number of different people, and each one locked eye contact with him no matter what angle he tilted his head.  There was an old, incredibly wrinkled Native American woman, her eyes shining like black coals and a serene smile on her lips; a man with short-cropped hair who looked to be wearing clothes from the time of the Roman Empire; a woman who was beautiful everywhere except for the severity of her gaze; several people who looked like they had been lifted straight out of a book on Egyptian history; and, to Steve’s even greater surprise, several drawings of Loki.  There was one of Loki crouched on the ground, his hands covering his face; one that looked to be of Loki casting some sort of spell; and a portrait of just his face, the only sketch that wasn’t looking straight into Steve's eyes.  Loki’s expression was such a potent mixture of longing, confusion, and sorrow that Steve almost felt a stab of pity flit across his chest.

“They’re amazing,” Steve murmured and he meant it.

_ <Thank you.  I have a lot of time on my hands.  Lots of time to practice.> _

Steve’s eyes fell once again on the drawing of Loki.  “Are you a... friend of Loki’s?”

For a long moment, she didn’t respond.  When she finally did, it surprised him.

_ <Loki is my master.> _

Steve’s eyebrows drew together.  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “You’re his... servant?”

The girl shrugged, and Steve suddenly felt something stir within him, like a fire igniting in his chest.  He lowered his sketchbook and looked her straight in the eye.

“You know, I come from a time when a man could think he was better than another man, for no good reason at all.  And really, there’s _never_ a good reason for a man to think that.”

When the girl didn’t respond, Steve leaned closer to her, and his voice was full of certainty.  “You don’t have to be a servant.”

At this, she shook her head, but Steve thought that he saw the intensity of her gaze lighten.

_ <Sweet humans...> _

“What?”

_ <Who would he have then?> _

Steve frowned, confused, and she went on.

_ <Loki.  Who would he have then, if he didn’t have me?> _

“Loki is a murderer--”

 _ <Yeah?  And _ you’re _torturing him.  Who is who? > _

Steve pressed his lips together and leaned close to her once more.  “I will do everything I can to make sure that he receives the proper treatment during his conviction.”

_ <Which probably means death.> _

Here, Steve could only look at her solemnly.  “He’s killed hundreds of people--”

Her head whipped towards him, and the spark of intensity was there in her eyes again, making him feel like he was staring down a wild animal.

_ <So have I.  It’s what monsters do.> _

Softly, Steve snorted.  “I’ve seen what Loki is capable of.  I don’t believe you’re a monster.”

_ <I am.> _

“Why?”

_ <Because of what I have done.> _

She moved closer and Steve thought he saw a shadow come over her golden eyes, darkening them like the moon would during an eclipse.  The voice that sliced through his head was suddenly monstrous--and painful.

_ <And what I am going to do.> _

****

Loki’s screams died in his throat, leaving only whimpers.  The basin had locked back into place again, and Loki didn’t know if he was alive or dead. _No_ , he had to alive, for death would be a blissful release from the pain, and maybe, just maybe, it would stop his mind from _remembering_.  As his eyelids filled with darkness, Loki fell through the river of his mind, remembering things from so long ago, which he had tried so hard to forget…

****

Loki looked up from the book he had been reading.

It was time.

With hardly a thought, his young body changed.  His hair grew rapidly, falling to his waist.  His green tunic lengthened to the ground to form a skirt, and his pants disappeared.  His face softened and his body filled out _just enough_.  He didn’t have to look at his reflection to know that this form, despite its appearance of youth, was desirable.  He knew it already.  _They_ had loved it.  It had been their _favorite_.

It used to be _his_ favorite.

His steps carried him swiftly.  Soon the gleaming spires of his home were behind him, winking softly in the moonlight.  The cover of the large trees hid him until he was only a shadow.  Like the night sky, his mind was clear, almost blank.  He knew he could be using this time to reflect on the spells he had memorized.  He could quiz himself, make sure every thought was in order.  He could remind himself for the umpteenth time to stay calm, no matter what happened, so that his lips would form the words the way he needed them to: _with_ precision and _without_ hesitancy.  With strength and without fear.  Without stopping.

But just like with his reflection, he didn’t need to check himself.  He knew that after all this time, the spellwords were burned into his heart.

It was what came _after_ the spell that worried him, and as familiar square-shaped cottages began materializing out of the gloom ahead, his heart rate picked up and his throat tightened.

 _No_ , he told himself fiercely.   _No.  I am the master of my mind, the lord of this realm.  I can hold the power of the sun in my hand.  I have no rivals.  No man is my equal.  And on this day, on the blood of my enemies, I shall be avenged._

But it did not help.  His mind was mayhem, his body a mess of nerves.  His thoughts--  

Remembering, against his will.  Four years of memories.

Despair was threatening to overtake him, and he wanted to scream.  To return home.  But he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ , he needed to _complete this_ \--he needed his peace.

And though his body was shaking uncontrollably, his legs still carried him straight into the village.  He had no idea where the three boys were, but that didn’t matter; he knew that they would find him.  They always found him.

Sure enough, the moment he had walked into the quiet village square, he heard a voice pipe up.

“Well, look at this, Dunga, we have a visitor!”

Loki stopped.  He didn’t want to look them in the eye, to see the faces that haunted his dreams.  But he did.  Three boys stood before him, all with the same obscene looks in their eyes and terrible smiles on their faces.  Their appearances were also similar, and Loki hardly cared about telling them apart.  But there was one distinguishing feature about them: The boy that had spoken, Brusi, was the tallest, the strongest, and the leader.  He had been standing on the lip of the fountain in the middle of the square, sticking debris into the spouts.  Now he had jumped down and stepped up close to Loki, and Loki could see the gaps in his teeth and smell the alcohol on his breath.

“It’s so late.  I’m afraid all the shops are closed.  But we can still show you around, young miss, can’t we boys?”

The two other boys laughed stupidly, and Loki tried not to recoil as Brusi threw an arm around his waist and pulled him close.  As the taller boy started walking, propelling Loki forward, Loki could feel the calluses on the boy’s hands through the silk of his dress, and Loki wanted to die.

“Here’s a statue of our great king Odin, and here’s one of his esteemed son Thor.  Where’s your statue?” he taunted and the two boys following behind them launched into cruel laughs once more.

“Here’s the Green Serpent Tavern, but you know about that place already, don’t you?”

More laughs.  Loki bit his cheek until it bled.   _Don’t say anything.  Not yet._

They rounded a corner.  Brusi stopped in front of two large wooden doors and threw them open.

“And here... is the barn!” he said as he gave Loki a hard push that sent him sprawling forward onto a pile of hay.  The three boys stepped into the barn after him, and Loki tried not to panic at how familiar the hay felt under his hands.  Dunga closed the doors and bolted them shut, while the last boy, Fretr, lit up the lone torch on the wall.  The shadows that now danced across the wall in front of Loki made it feel like there were seven boys surrounding him, not just three...

Brusi had stepped up close to him again.  Loki wanted to look up at him, wanted to _sear_ the boy with his stare, but Loki couldn’t.  His body was so tense he felt like he would throw up, and he desperately prayed to an unknown god that he wouldn’t.  But soon, Brusi had grabbed a handful of his long hair and was tilting Loki’s head back, and Loki had to look at him.  That _smile_.  It was the smile that Loki saw only in the dark: in his dreams, in the shadows of his room, on the backs of his eyelids.  Loki knew that Brusi liked having Loki like this, waist-level and kneeling meekly before him, and that the boy kept him there for as long as he could possibly wait, drawing the moment out.  He must have been pretty excited today, for, as he ran a thumb across Loki’s lower lip, Loki saw his erection twitch in his pants.  Brusi wasn’t going to wait long tonight.   _Good_ , Loki thought fiercely.  He hadn’t wanted to wait either.

“Didn’t I say he would start to like it, Fretr?” Brusi said as he released Loki’s hair, letting him fall back to the ground.

“Yes, you did Brusi!” Fretr said with an excited laugh _._ “The _argr._ ”

 _“Argr, argr, argr,”_ they taunted as they surrounded Loki, kicking and spitting on him.  Loki covered his face and tried to stop the tears from forming in his eyes.  Is that what his father referred to him as, when Loki wasn’t there?  Is that what Odin called him to his mother?  To Thor?  To all of Asgard?  All because Loki was different?

Dunga was whining.  “Brusi, I want to go first.  I didn’t get to finish last time--”

“ _No_ ,” Brusi snapped and the other boy shrank back.  “When I am done with him, then you can have him.  But _only_ then.”

This was it.  Brusi dragged Loki back to his feet and started roughly pulling off his clothes, starting with Loki’s corset.  Brusi already knew that the laces took too long to untie, so he grabbed both sides of the front of the corset and with a great heave, ripped the laces all the way down.  With Loki’s corset gone, things went much quicker, and in no time at all, Loki was just down to his thin white slip.  He stood there--eyes to the ground and hating himself for not being able to stop his cheeks from burning--while Brusi looked him up and down, smiling salaciously.  The two other boys had started to shift excitedly, licking their lips in anticipation.  Brusi’s large hand grabbed Loki’s hair to force him back down on his knees, and then the boy started undoing the buttons of his pants.

It was then when Loki looked up at him.  It was then when Loki’s mouth opened, freeing the words that he had branded on his tongue so many years ago.  And it was then when Brusi’s eyes grew wide with fear.

Loki was changing.  His body was filling out, growing larger and muscular and _tall_ ; in a matter of seconds, Loki had grown to hover just below the barn’s eight-foot ceiling.  His gender changed: his long hair swooped back into his head until none remained, his chest and shoulders widened to twice their original size, and he was now very decidedly _male_.  His face was still humanoid, but his eyes were now red, the cheekbones were sharper, the chin stronger, and a series of dark markings decorated his face, looking like old scars.  But the _most_ startling thing was that his face was now _blue_ \--in fact, his whole body had turned that color, the color of _frost_.  Loki curled his large hand into a fist, the shadow of his arm falling over the faces of the three petrified boys below, and Loki smiled, the expression demonic on his now-alien face.

When Loki had thought about the means for his revenge, he knew that he had wanted to do it himself, with his own hands.  His mind had flicked through a variety of tortures: electrocution, the blood eagle, drowning, scaphism--but none were good enough.  He wanted his revenge to be be at the hands of the ultimate terror, the monster that haunted the dreams of every Asgardian, even his father’s: a _Frost Giant._

From the outside of the barn, nothing could be heard.  It was as if this was any ordinary Asgardian winter evening.  But on the inside…

In his attempt to flee, Brusi had pushed the other two boys in front of him, and Loki let him think that the distraction had worked: Loki's great, blue arm shot down and grasped the waist of Fretr.  As Dunga and Brusi tried in vain to tug open the doors that Loki had sealed with his magic, Loki took his time.  The sound of the boy’s screams combined with the panicked gasps and cries of Dunga and Brusi made Loki’s black heart _bloom_ , and he had never felt so alive.

By the time Loki had dropped the mangled remains of Fretr to the ground and started on Dunga, Brusi had soiled himself in fear.  Loki’s smile was wicked as he ripped off one of Dunga’s arms and tossed it down to land at Brusi’s feet.  Dunga was half-conscious in his hand, and Loki knew that _wouldn’t_ do.

“I wonder, Dunga, if you would finish if I stimulated your prostate with a cattle prod?”

And Loki did.  Until Dunga finished.

“Who’s the _argr_ , now?” Loki growled as he tossed Dunga’s lifeless body into the hay loft.

Now only Brusi was left.  He was lying on the ground by the doors, his bloody hands still scrambling to pry the doors open.  His face was streaked with tears.  Loki kneeled and bent close to him, the horrible, perverse joy in his heart spiking when the boy recoiled away from him.

“Please, please don’t kill me!”

The Frost Giant’s face split into a smile that Loki knew would haunt Brusi whenever the boy closed his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, Brusi.  I won’t.  You are going to live _forever_.”

Loki raised his palm, calling on his magic, and a moment later, Brusi was gone.  The silence in the barn was suddenly piercing, and as the red haze lifted from his eyes, Loki looked down at his blood-stained hands.  They were trembling.  During the whole attack, Loki had run solely on adrenaline, mindlessly letting his actions guide him.  He knew that if he stopped and noticed what he was doing, he would panic, his mind and body recoiling from the depravity of his actions--the breaking of his innocence.  And so, as he had anticipated and practiced for so many years, he had let loose the monster, giving it complete control.  But now it was over.  In the quiet of the Asgardian night, the horror of what he had done rose up out the dark to surround him, and he was suddenly--violently--afraid.  This was the first time Loki had ever killed, and he hadn't just killed--he had _undone_.  Slowly, Loki’s body shrank, turning back into his young male form.  He magicked away the blood on his hands and reverted the barn back to how it looked when he had entered.  But even when he was once again his old self, he realized that something had changed.  There was something foreign still inside him, settling deeply into his chest.  It was the _Frost Giant_.  This monster, the one he had conjured up to be the instrument of his revenge, had decided to stay.  For several years afterward, Loki wrestled with this beast in his chest, fighting it back down whenever it reared its nightmarish head.  This wasn’t who he was, he would plead with himself.  He _wasn’t_ a monster.  And slowly, with a considerable amount of pain and effort, it worked: Loki had created for himself a tremulous sense of _peace_.

Until that fateful day when Loki learned that the Casket of Ancient Winters was not the only thing Odin had taken from Jotunheim....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you recognize the small piece of dialog I nabbed from Hannibal.


	13. Keep Your Friends Close

Lira was watching the humans.  If she could smile, she would.  She had been watching humans for so many years (thousands of humans for thousands of years) and each time, she found herself thinking the same thing: It was amazing what creatures who were so small and delicate could accomplish when they worked together.  So when she dropped her invisibility spell and stepped into the middle of the large room at the top of Avengers Tower, she felt a small stab of sadness.  She hoped that none of them would try to stop her.

Lira let her mind-speak blossom out into the room: _ <Humans of Earth.  I am here to take what is mine.> _

Immediately, there was a flurry of movement as the humans she was addressing rushed to find the source of the voice in their heads.  Lira’s eyes swept solemnly around the room as she counted them: four men and one woman, all with very distinguishing characteristics.  But there was one man who had caught her eye immediately; she couldn't help but be drawn to the power and divinity rolling off him in waves.  The tall, broad-shouldered man with the long blonde hair and the troubled expression was a god.  Suddenly curious, Lira wanted to slip into his mind to find out who he was, but the man with the eye-patch had started speaking.

“You’re not supposed to be here.  I believe you’re supposed to be confined to the med bay.”  His voice lowered significantly.  “And _asleep_.”

“And I’m not really a fan of having your voice inside my head,” the flame-haired woman said, crossing her arms across her chest.  “The only voice I want in there is my own.”

“And maybe Anne Bancroft’s,” quipped a dark-haired man wearing a sleek suit, his voice like his smile: unafraid and with a slight taunt around the edges.  “It’s a sexy voice.”  He turned to look at his companions.  “No?  Just me?  Am I the only one who’s seen ‘The Graduate?’  Steve, back me up here.  Surely you’ve seen it by now--”

“Where _is_ Steve?” interjected a man with bare, muscular arms and archery gloves on his hands.  Frowning, he looked around the room.

“You… know my brother?” rumbled the blonde-haired god, and Lira raised an eyebrow at him.   _Ah, so this was Loki’s “brother”…_

_ <I do.  Do you?> _

When the Thunder God grimaced  (either from the tone of Lira’s voice or her question), the god-killer couldn’t help but snort and roll her eyes to the ceiling.

“Enough talk,” boomed the man with the eye-patch.  “We know you have magical abilities--”

_ <Yes, enough talk.  You don’t have much time.> _

“Time for what?” asked the archer, but Lira ignored him.

_ <I am taking what’s mine, and it would do well if you don’t try to stop me.  You are out of your league.> _

At this, the man with the smart mouth laughed.  “Listen, Iron Jaw, we weren’t ‘out of our league’ when we stopped Loki and an entire alien army from destroying this city and probably taking over the whole world.  It would ‘do well’ if _you_ stood down, Sweets.”  He was casually walking over to her, his hand discretely reaching towards the watch on his wrist.

Lira let her laugh flick through their heads like a whip and enjoyed watching them wince.

 _ <Silly humans.  All this talk.  You won't have time to _ save _him... > _

A hush fell over the room.  Then several things happened at once.

“Hill, get me a lock on Steve Rogers’ location _now_ ,” the man with the eye-patch barked into the communicator on his wrist--

A suit of iron seemed to appear out of thin air to wrap itself around the man with the smart mouth--

The archer jumped down from the balcony above, his bow springing open in his hands--

A woman’s voice was coming out of the communicator: _“Director, I’ve got his location.  He’s still here in the tower, he’s… Oh my God--”_

The flame-haired woman and the Director locked eyes--

The voice on the other end of the communicator was suddenly frantic: _“He’s in the chamber--He’s in Loki’s chamber and I’m not getting a reading on Loki!  Sir, I think Loki’s gone and_ Steve is there instead--”

Immediately, the pair ran out of the room, and Lira felt a small twinge of guilt as the faces of the remaining humans blanched at the news.  The man in iron took to the air, raining particle beams out of his palms that Lira made a show of dodging.  As arrows whizzed by her head, she caught whiffs of poison and sleeping gas.

The only person who hadn’t moved was Thor.

A repulsor beam nipped the side of her face and Lira was suddenly angry.  She grasped the air with both hands and pulled, and the man in the iron suit became just a man once more as his armor tore off of him and landed in a pile at Lira’s feet.  He fell to the ground, landing hard on his stomach.  Slowly, Lira stalked towards him, directing an arrow back to its owner with a sharp wave of her hand.  Her eyes blazed.

_ <I told you.  Out of your league.> _

“You know,” huffed the man, that annoying half-smile still hovering around the edges of his lips, “you have a nice voice.  You should do commercials.  Voice-overs only, of course.”

Angrily, Lira’s power drilled into the man’s mind and he tried not to gasp as blood began dripping out of his nose.  But still, he didn’t stop talking.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, kiddo.  If you have your enemy on the ground, don’t stop to gloat.  Believe me, I know it’s tempting.  But it usually ends up... giving them an opening!”

And a particle beam shot out of the watch on his wrist to hit Lira straight in the chest.  She flew backwards, crashed right through the window and began to fall.

****

Slowly, Steve’s eyes opened.  There was pain in his head and in his neck and in his arms, and in no time at all, he learned why: He was on his knees in a dark room, his arms stretched wide and chained to the wall behind him.  He shook his head, trying to clear it.  The last thing he remembered was seeing the girl’s eyes turn black, and then _everything_ was black, as if her eyes had swooped up to swallow him whole.  The muscles in his shoulders ached and he winced.  He had let his guard down, ignored his instincts--he _never_ did that, and that realization hurt more than the pains in his body.  There was a sound like an ancient contraption springing to life--a whirring of cogs, a lowering of a lever--and immediately, Steve knew where he was.

The girl had been telling the truth.  She _was_ just like Loki after all.

Steve closed his eyes and set his jaw as the first drop of acid hit him....

****

Lira was falling.  She was falling fast, but her arms were turning into wings, and suddenly she _wasn’t_ falling any longer, she was _dancing_.  And Onatah was there and Loki was there, and his arms were reaching out to hold her, to dance _with_ her, to--

_Loki…_

Lira opened her eyes.  She was falling fast, the glass windows of Avengers Tower whooshing past her in a blur.  The ground was rapidly coming up to meet her, and finally, Lira had had enough.  The man with the smart mouth had tricked her, and she was going to see how well _he_ did without a mouth.  A few stories from the ground, her body screeched to a halt in mid-air, and she shot back up the way she had come, spurred by a flight spell, no wings required.

With her eyes now burning like black tar, she floated through the broken window and landed, fully expecting the humans to resume their attack.  But nothing happened.  Lira stared.  The archer and the jokester were both lying unconscious on the floor.

And there was Thor, looking like he still hadn't moved, but Lira noticed that the hand by his side was now gripping a large hammer.

“ _Go_ ,” the god whispered.

And with one last look at the Thunder God, Lira did.

But not before magicking open the lock to the humans’ torture chamber...

****

The surprise blast from the mouthy human had been more powerful than Lira had initially realized, and she felt her spell flicker.  Coupled, too, was the fact that Loki was practically dead weight in her arms.  She knew that he wasn’t going to like this, but her portal was collapsing around her and she had to touch down on the realm below.

She landed hard, skidded a few feet on the ground and tumbled right into a corn field, with Loki’s body following like a corpse.  For a moment, she just laid there, staring up at the cloudless blue sky.  She was so tired…

Loki moaned and Lira bolted upright.  He was half-conscious, twitching and jerking as seizures wracked his body, and Lira felt tears form in the corners of her eyes.

None of her masters had ever taught her any healing spells.

She laid her head on Loki’s chest and wrapped her arms around his torso, feeling the tears now slip down her cheeks to sting the sensitive skin and exposed tissue on the bottom of her face.  As more tears threatened to fall, she squeezed her eyes shut to try and hold them back.  It didn’t work.

What good was all her power, all her supposed might?   Her threats were useless; even the humans would figure that out eventually.  Steve Rogers had been wrong.  All she could be was a slave, a puppet, a harbinger, a _monster_.  Whenever she had acted on her own accord, it just caused more pain.

Why, why was she even alive?  Why did something like her exist?  

She was either a monster or she was nothing.

Was that all she was meant to be?

Loki was still being wracked by the aftereffects of the torture, muttering and gasping out names and places she didn’t know.  Was he dreaming?  Being chased by ruthless, malevolent nightmares?  When he awoke, would he find the living to be just as terrifying, like she did?  She strengthened her grip around him, wishing she could will the seizures away on her own.  The power to destroy civilizations, to make kings and gods tremble before her on their knees, her very _breath_ \--she would give it all away if she could perform this one small thing.

****

Loki was _alive_.  Through the remaining tremors of pain, he could feel the ground beneath his head.  A great blue sky was peering down at him through a dense field of corn stalks.  As he watched, a corn husk floated down to brush against his face and land near his left ear.  He was… free?  He was _free_.  But then pain shot through his body again, and he was back in the dark chamber, back into his mind, back into his night terrors, back to remembering _everything_.

Like all dark, rawboned creatures, Loki was a _survivor_.  He was a sewer rat, living underfoot and alone, wading through a shadowy, desolate world and eating only the miserly scraps that fell from above.  Yet _still_ he survived.

But this time… this time something was different.  Something within him had... _changed_.

When he had woken up from the pain-induced unconsciousness, something else had woken up with him.  The _beast_.

Ever since he was young, Loki had thought he knew himself.  How could another person know him better? he would reason.  He was the quickest, the smartest, the most well read, the most capable.  His control of his emotions, his ability to interpret every small feeling or motivation that flit across his heart was unparalleled.  Plain and simple, he was a _genius_.  He knew his future as well as he could see his present.  But it had been a _ruse._ His false family hadn’t been the only ones tricking him.  The God of Lies had fallen for one of his _own_.

All this time, he had been convincing himself that his plan--his _revenge_ \--wasn’t ready, that it needed fine-tuning.  Every small thing had to be realized beforehand, with each thought rolled over and over in his mind like a stone in his hands.  Only when every last thing was in place would he finally act.  And so he didn’t act.  Not yet.  Not for _years_ , all the while reminding himself: Look what had happened when he had acted too hastily--he had been defeated.  Him!  Defeated!  And not only once but _twice_.

He had been imprisoned.  He had been freed.  Months passed, and still he hadn’t acted.

_Why?_

Now--finally--Loki knew.  

 _Sentiment_.

Not because his plan wasn’t fully realized.  Not because the pieces weren’t yet in place.  Those were the lies he had been telling himself.   _No_ , he hadn’t acted because somewhere, buried deep, he still believed that he _belonged_.  That his family still considered him one of their own, despite the monster that he was.  He had fallen for the biggest lie ever told.   _Love_.

When he had discovered the God-Jewel, his plan had changed.  Now death was too good for his enemies.  With the God-Jewel, he had the means to shatter death itself, to provide an _eternity_ of the worst torture of all: _isolation_.  Surely that would satisfy the beast in his chest, and he would finally have his peace.  But now...

Now he wanted to use his hands.  He wanted to taste their pain, feel their hearts shiver and quake in fear.  He wanted to bring them to the brink of death’s comforting embrace and pull them back.  And then do it all again.

Gingerly, Loki sat up.  His eyes were bloodshot, his body still shaking from the aftereffects of the torture.  The humans would pay for what they had done to him.  All of them.  The whole world.  And he would make Thor _watch_.  Over and over.

_ <Master?> _

_Who...?_

The girl--the god-killer-- _Lira._

There she was, sitting beside him.  As if she had never left.

“You…” he began, his throat raw.  “You came back for me.  You could’ve left, you could’ve had your freedom, but you came back.”

She looked down.

_ <You’re my master.  I couldn’t leave you.> _

Tenderly, Loki reached for her.  He cradled the side of her face, his fingers in her hair.  “You…”  He shook his head.  “No longer are you mine to command.  We are equals.  We _will_ have our vengeance.  And on the ashes of this world, we will live forever. _Together_.”

His slipped the serpent ring off of his finger and then threw it up into the air, using his magic to propel it into the cosmos.  Her eyes were _so_ wide, and the beast peaked out of his face to smile at her.

****

When Loki regained consciousness, Lira had been ecstatic.  The aftershocks of the pain were slowly dissipating; he was going to be _okay_.

But…

When he had touched her… declared his delirious promise… smiled at her…

It _hadn’t_ been him.  It had been something else, and Lira knew: The humans had broken him.  After everything that had happened to him, it was those tiny, powerless beings that had delivered the killing blow.  The Loki she had known, and who had known her, was _gone_.

He looked at her, the smile on his face alien, his eyes like black holes.  Lira fought back tears.

It was amazing what creatures who were so small and delicate could accomplish when they worked together.

Maybe her master had been right.  Maybe retribution was what these creatures deserved…

“Loki!”

Lira cursed to herself.  She had let humans sneak up on her!  Where was her head?  But wait… they _weren’t_ humans.  It was the _Vanir_.  She had forgotten they had landed in Vanaheim.  Spread out on the field before them were warriors, hundreds of them, armed to the teeth.  Many were on horseback, their mounts tossing their heads in the light of the midday sun.  Lira cursed to herself again.  Would Loki be angry with her if she magicked the two of them out of here right now?

A man was cautiously trotting his horse forward.  When the crowd moved to follow him, their faces fierce and expectant, he raised a hand to stop them.  Slowly, he dismounted and stepped closer.

“Loki,” the man said again, his voice soft but steady.  He had dark eyes, an olive complexion, and long black hair that was tired back in a bun.  He continued to inch closer, raising his hands as if to prove he was unarmed.  “We’ve been looking for you.  We’ve been worried.”

Sitting still but alert next to Loki, Lira skimmed the man’s mind and then raised her eyebrows in surprise.  He wasn’t lying.  He truly was concerned.

Loki sneered at the man.  “Have you?”

“We have.  All of us, Fandral, Volstagg, your mother--”

“Sif?” Loki challenged.

The man nodded.  “Yes, Lady Sif as well.  We want you to come home.  We want to help you.”

Loki’s laugh was bitter and strange.  “Help me?  What’s wrong with me, Hogun?”

“You’re sick,” the man--Hogun--replied gently.  “But it’s all right.  We can help you.”

He was right in front of Loki now, and Lira tensed as she wondered what he was going to do.  But the man just crouched and put his arms around Loki, guiding him gently to his feet like a loved one would.  And to Lira’s surprise, Loki let him.

“What am I,” Loki gasped suddenly, his eyes wild and frightened.  “What am I, Hogun?”

“You’re a prince of Asgard,” Hogun replied.  “And you’re my friend.”

At this, Loki seemed to relax slightly in his arms.  He looked into Hogun’s face, a relieved smile on his lips, and Lira thought she saw a glimpse of the Loki she had known.  “You were always good to me, Hogun,” he murmured.  “Even afterwards...”

Hogun was nodding.  “Let’s go home, Loki.”

Loki matched his nod.  Hogun started forward, still supporting Loki with his arms, and on shaky legs, Loki took a step.  And another step.  And another.  And then Hogun’s mouth fell open in surprise.

Loki had stuck a dagger into Hogun’s chest.

Blood was gushing onto his hands, but Loki only pushed the dagger in further, his eyes wild.

“You d-didn’t c-come visit me,” he growled fiercely, spittle flying from his mouth.  He twisted the knife, and the man’s face contorted into one of horrible shock and pain.  “In my cell… You d-didn’t come.”

There were shouts from the militia.  Several horses reared up, and the soldiers had raised their weapons, preparing to charge, but Lira held up a hand, her power stopping them.

Hogun had his hands around Loki’s, but Loki didn’t stop driving the dagger in, and a moment later, Hogun’s eyes rolled up into his head and Loki let him fall to the ground.  Lira watched, her eyebrows drawn together; she didn’t know how to feel.  Had they really once been friends?  Oh, Loki…

Loki tossed the dagger away and faced the crowd.  Lira could feel angry black power start to churn within him, and her heart sank as she realized what was coming next.

Loki snarled, sounding more animal than man: _“Kill them all.”_

Lira’s shoulders slumped.  She bowed her head.  And raised her hand.

****

Dead.  They were all dead.  Just like he had wanted.  Just like he had dreamed.

Gasping and wheezing, Loki fell forward onto his hands and knees.  He hung his head. _Tired_ , he was just tired from the effort it had taken to destroy them all.  The bodies around them had begun to rot in the warm Vanaheim sun, and Loki wanted to vomit.

_Hogan…_

“Take me… to… Karnilla,” Loki gasped to the girl, and she did.

As soon as his feet hit the ground in the middle of Nornheim’s great hall, he and the girl were surrounded and forced to their knees.  The tip of a spear touched his nose, and Loki’s eyes travelled up the weapon’s shaft to the man holding it.  He was broad-shouldered and muscled, with close-cropped gray hair and a brown leather eye-patch over his left eye.  If looks were anything to go by, he was most likely the general to Karnilla’s army.  The old Loki probably would’ve made some crack about the size of his staff or the silliness of his eye-patch, but this new Loki…

Without a word, Loki reared up and threw the guardsmen off of him with his magic.  He twitched his hand and an instant later, a thick rope appeared--Loki grabbed it and threw one end over a wooden beam in the ceiling.  The other end of the rope snaked around the general's waist and hosted him in the air until the man’s hips were level with Loki’s line of sight.  Finally, Loki rested the butt of the spear on the ground, leaving the point right underneath an area that would concern any man.

“Where is she?” Loki demanded.

Surprisingly, the general didn’t seem too worried about his current predicament.  “She’s in Álfheimr,” he replied calmly.  “Retrieving a gift for Thor’s wedding next week.”  At Loki’s stunned expression, the man smirked.  “Didn’t get an invitation?”

Loki loosed the hand holding the rope, and the general sank a few inches, his privates coming precariously close to the tip of the spear.

“Does Karnilla know how you treat her guests when she’s away?” Loki snarled.

Now the man was serious.  “You are no guest,” he growled.  “In fact, the last time I saw you, your little friend here had killed seven of my best men.”

“Keep talking, and it will be _more_ ,” Loki replied darkly.  Ever since he had regained consciousness, there had been a burning within him, the need to act, to _kill_ ,and he had slaked some of his blood lust with the destruction of the Vanir army _._ But in the aftermath, as he had surveyed the field of bodies before him, he had expected the feeling of triumph to spread through him like an elixir--but it _hadn’t_.  A more potent feeling was there instead, churning beneath his skin, hiding behind his chest: the _weakness_.  He had felt ashamed, he had felt guilt, _no_ , _no_ \--he thought he was done feeling this way!  As he had panicked, the unwelcome feelings had seemed to swell up within him, and now the need to act was writhing in him once more--but not to destroy.  To pursue the one thing that could soothe him, the one thing that was both pain _and_ comfort.  The two sides of the same coin.  The two sides of _him_.

“Take me to Egypt,” Loki gasped to the girl, and she did.

****

Once in Egypt, it was easy for Loki to find the pocket dimension that housed the Egyptian Pantheon.  As a superior being himself, he couldn’t help but be drawn to the magic radiating from its secret entrance within the Great Pyramid.  Loki didn’t bother camouflaging himself as he followed tourists into the Robber’s Tunnel, but when the path veered sharply to the left, Loki kept walking forward through the stone and straight into _Heliopolis_.

Like a mirage, the great city of Heliopolis seemed to rise out of the sand before him.  The sun winked off of every surface, making Loki want to cover his eyes.  It was so bright.  Everything looked like it was lined in gold: the pillars, the steps, the statues--so many statues.  Whether the statues were of ancient gods or the Ennead themselves, Loki did not care.  Most of the buildings and houses were all open, and the number of various curtains fluttering in the breeze made the city look like it was breathing.  The sun was blistering, and Loki hated this realm immediately.  But he was desperate, and in no time at all, he found what he was looking for.

“Lok--”

As Loki stepped into the room, Horus had started saying his name in surprise, but Loki didn’t let him finish.  He took two steps, grabbed the sides of the god’s beautiful face, and kissed him.  For a moment, beneath his lips, Loki could feel Horus’ shock, but soon the god was relaxing in his arms and kissing him back.  Horus bit Loki’s bottom lip, and it was then when Loki learned that his teeth were sharp like an animal’s: blood dribbled down Loki’s chin, and he licked his lips, tasting a sharp, metallic tang.  Feeling his heartbeat start to race, Loki unhooked the latches to his clothes and slipped his arms out of his shirt.  He took one of Horus’ hands and ran the man’s claws across his chest, drawing several stinging lines of blood that stood out against his white skin like a beacon.  Now the look in Horus’ eyes was intense, and his kiss was so brutal, it stole Loki’s breath.  The god bent his head and ran his tongue over the scratches on Loki’s chest, and when he rose up to kiss Loki once more, he could once again taste his own blood on his lips.  As Horus led Loki to his bed, Loki closed his eyes and melted into his touch, willing the world around them to vanish.  This was exactly what he needed--to _undo_.

He didn’t care that the open windows allowed anyone to hear them.  As Loki ran his tongue over those gold-tinged nipples, he didn’t care that the Horus he barely knew suddenly seemed different, sharp and animalistic.  He didn’t care, he didn’t care that Horus had just barely worked him before he was thrusting inside him and setting a punishing rhythm.  Loki grabbed the headboard and dug his nails in, wanting to scream.  It was all he had ever known: how pain could turn into pleasure if one convinced himself that it was the only way to feel.  He wanted to be here, with this man, feeling that glorious combination of pleasure and pain, all the way into oblivion.

“Do you feel it,” Horus whispered in his ear.

And Loki could only say yes.  

****

The sun was hot on Lira’s face and although sweat beaded her brow, it didn’t bother her.  In fact, she felt quite comfortable in the heat; both Asgard and Midgard had been too cold for her liking.  But _of course_ she would feel more comfortable here.  Her earliest memories (what she could still recall of them) were of this place.  She didn’t know how she felt being back in Heliopolis, the place she could call her home--if she cared.  When Loki had commanded her to transport the two of them to Egypt, Lira had been surprised.  She could barely keep up with this new Loki.  But when Loki had actually set foot in Heliopolis and made his intentions clear, Lira had understood and slunk away.   _What a strange turn of events_ , she thought solemnly.  There was an uneasiness blooming in her chest, but Lira forced her mind to empty.  She trotted down several flights of stairs, rounded a corner, and then plunked herself down in a quiet alley to wait.  After a boring minute of silence, a small, curious part of her piped up: she could explore; she had the time.  But Lira just shook her head at herself.  She didn't need to make new memories of this place.

But it didn't matter; it seemed new memories were going to find _her_.

“You, girl, what are you doing here?” demanded a sharp voice, and Lira looked up.  Leaning over the edge of a balcony above her was a woman… or at least, that was the impression Lira got.  Her skin was a tawny gold and her eyes were green and slitted like a cat’s.  Her features were attractive, although there was certainly something feline about them, particularly her nose which was pink and flat and her lipless, muzzle-like mouth.  From beneath the large, golden sun disk she wore on her head cascaded a tangle of black curls.  She was tall; even from this angle, Lira could see that she was naked at the torso, her breasts like the perfect golden globes found on figurines sold in Egyptian tourist traps.  When Lira didn’t answer, the lion-woman proceeded to come towards her, meandering gracefully (yet with a hint of danger) down a curving staircase.  She stopped right in front of the girl, so close that Lira had to lean her head back against the wall to look up at her.

“I have not seen you before, yet you are a goddess and an Ennead.”  She peered closer at Lira and the slits of her pupils widened.  “Or _more_ than a goddess.  Who are you?”

Lira just shook her head.

_ <No one.> _

“Don't lie to me, girl,” snapped the woman.  Out of the corners of her eyes, Lira saw movement and realized that it was the swishing of a tufted tail peeking out from under the woman’s red skirt.

_ <I am nothing.  A nobody.> _

“There are no such things as ‘nobodies,” the woman said firmly.  “Only somebodies who lie to themselves.”

 _I learn from the best_ , Lira thought dryly, not daring to say it aloud.  Already, Lira knew that this woman was not one to joke with, as there was no doubt that she was a formidable (and likely short-tempered) Egyptian goddess.

“Look at me, girl,” demanded the lion-woman and Lira obliged.  “Who are you?”

_ <I am a servant of an Asgardian god who is visiting the city.> _

“A servant?” the goddess said incredulously.  “That’s impossible.  I know you.  You look familiar to me.”

 _Oh look, another Ennead who seems to know me_ , Lira thought wryly, but again she was polite.

_ <This is my first time here.> _

“Impossible,” the woman repeated.  “You are as much of an Ennead as I am.”

Lira kept her mind-speak casual as she changed the subject.   _< Who are you?> _

The lion-woman seemed to draw herself up, looming even taller over the girl.  “I am Sekhmet, Goddess of War and of Healing.”

 _War_ and _healing, how interesting_ , Lira thought.  When she remained quiet, the goddess seemed to finally grow tired of her questions going unanswered.  With an annoyed look, the lion-woman stepped back and began walking the way she had come.  But after a few steps, she turned and looked back over her shoulder.

“You are no servant, girl,” she said fiercely, her eyes glinting.  “Stop pretending to be so.”

And as Lira watched her leave, the god-killer suddenly had the feeling that she _did_ , in fact,know the goddess.  But from where, she couldn't recall.

****

The sun was just beginning to set when a pair of feet entered Lira’s line of sight.  It was Loki.  Lira peered at him curiously, wondering if he was in a better spirits, but he wasn't.  Although there was now a slight flush to his cheeks, the emptiness was still there, glinting in his eyes like pieces of flint.  He looked at her but then looked past her.

“Olympus,” was all he said, and Lira raised a hand.


	14. A Murder Of Crows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki gets his wicked stepmother moment.
> 
>  
> 
> (Three new chapters in two days?? Look at me goooooooooo)

Unlike before, Loki hadn’t wanted to stroll unconcealed into the realm of the Greek gods, so Lira skipped the dimensional bridge that connected Olympus to Earth, transporting them instead to a secluded area in the Forest of the Huntress.  In contrast to Heliopolis’ never-ending horizon, Olympus was a small asteroid-like landmass that was surrounded on all sides by the dark vacuum of space.  Being a home to gods, it was not surprising that this planetary body seemed to defy Earth’s laws of nature and physics.  Despite being completely open to space, there was still some kind of gravity on the landmass, allowing inhabitants to walk upon its flat surface with ease.  Similarly, the atmosphere was oxygen-rich and ever-present, enabling Loki and Lira to breathe comfortably.  The trees around them were large and indistinguishable from their Earthen (or Asgardian) counterparts, and as Lira looked around, she wondered why Loki had asked to come here.

“To the Hall of Ares,” he commanded.

It was so much easier to travel _within_ a realm than to and from one, and Lira barely had to think as she called upon her magic.  In a matter of seconds, their surroundings blurred and then rearranged themselves into what looked to be a large Grecian temple.  Having been built upon a hilltop, it towered above them, a commanding structure of colonnades, ornately-carved reliefs on the walls, and light-reflecting marble.  Lira had started up the limestone steps, but when Loki stopped her with an arm in front of her chest, a memory rose up in her mind of the last time he had done so back in Asgard--right after he had seen her true face… and before he had suggested a new name.  It seemed so long ago, and so much had changed since then.  As Loki started walking around the side of the temple, Lira mirrored his steps, her head lowered.

Lira had never seen the Greek God of War, but when she and Loki snuck looks into a room at the back of the temple, Lira knew they were looking at him.  Like most gods, he was tall and commanding with large hands and feet.  Also like most gods, the majority of his flawless body was on display, covered only by a sleeveless black tunic that barely touched the tops of his thighs.  His hair and eyes were also black, and his face was the perfect blend of attractiveness and danger.  He simply radiated virility.

Loki watched him in silence for a moment.  Then Lira felt the opening of a pocket dimension, and a moment later, the God-Jewel appeared in his hands.  She opened her eyes wide as Loki started to whisper the words to the spell.

Ares was alone in his room… so no one heard him when he screamed.

The God-Jewel dimmed in Loki’s hands.  There was sweat on his brow and he was shaking, but he didn’t seem to notice.  He stared into the God-Jewel’s depths, his face alight with an eerie-looking hunger, reminiscent of the Enchantress’ so very long ago.  That uncomfortable feeling was back in Lira’s chest, and she tried to shake it away.  It didn’t work.

“Locate the Lion of Olympus,” Loki intoned, and Lira hesitated before raising a hand.

Ares’ half-brother was easy to find.  Within seconds, they were peering around a pillar into the depths of an empty amphitheater and at the lone figure in the middle: _Hercules_.  He was just as handsome and large as his half-brother, and he could’ve been a _tiny_ bit shorter, but it was hard for Lira to tell.  Like the sun to Ares’ shadow, Hercules’ hair was a golden blonde, and his tunic skirt (the only piece of clothing he wore) was the color of spring grass.  He was sitting on a broken column, sharpening his sword with a piece of rock, completely unaware that he was being watched.

He didn’t even get the chance to scream before the light from the God-Jewel swallowed him whole.

****

When Loki was finished, he had only said one word, “Home,” and Lira had known exactly where he wanted to go.  When the light from her transportation spell disappeared, familiar gray walls rose up all around them, and Loki stumbled forward to sit in his stone throne.  He seemed relieved, and Lira wondered, did the God-Jewel feel heavier given the number of gods it now imprisoned?  Loki had only been confined within its hellish depths for a few minutes; by now, that time had more than doubled since Loki had first imprisoned the Greek God of War.  Lira was just about to knit her eyebrows together in concern when Loki spoke the words to the spell.  As the blinding flash of light spread throughout the cavern, Lira automatically covered her eyes.

Minutes before, Loki’s hideaway had been quiet.  Now, as the light from the God-Jewel dimmed once again, the cavern was ringing with shuddering gasps and cries of shock.  Three Greek gods lay on the ground in front of them, sweating profusely and looking like they were half-dead (and Lira knew that they _were_ ): Ares, Hercules, and the God of Wine and Merriment, Dionysus.  Lira squinted at the smaller god (who certainly wasn’t looking merry at the moment).  As far as gods went, he wasn’t _that_ small, but sitting side by side with his brothers, he certainly looked as such.  His features were beautiful with a hint of softness, and he was the only one out of the three wearing the most clothes.  He was also shaking the most, the tremors quaking his narrow frame like seizures.

Loki had gotten up to walk among them.  “Relax, you’re all right, you’re back,” he murmured, noticeably less nicer than when he had comforted Karnilla.

It took the better part of an hour before the gods of Olympus regained coherency.  And just like Karnilla, they were _furious_.  They clustered around Loki, their voices loud as they demanded an explanation.  And the God of Lies gave it to them.

“It was Odin,” Loki said evenly.  “He imprisoned you in the God-Jewel.  Having learned of it, I immediately stole the artifact, freed you, and have been in hiding ever since.”

“Ridiculous,” barked Ares.  “Why would Odin dare do such a thing?  Bring the everlasting power and might of the Olympian army upon his head?”

“It is no doubt a distraction planned for my elder brother, Thor.  One week from today he is getting married.”  Loki’s eyes flicked up to look at the men meaningfully.  “To a _Midgardian_.”

At this, Ares laughed and the sound rattled the stone walls around them.  “A Midgardian?  Thor Odinson, the mighty smithing hand of Asgard, is to marry a _mortal_?”

“Precisely,” Loki said, dryness creeping into the edges of his voice.

“I know you,” Hercules said suddenly.  “You have been in hiding for longer than this day.”

“I believe I have always been clear about my feelings towards the All-Father’s deception,” Loki replied smoothly.

“Exactly why you would orchestrate this.  Knowing full well that Zeus would declare war on Asgard,” Ares said, angry suspicion deepening his voice.

Here, Loki seemed to sigh.  “You have nothing to be suspicious of.  Escaping Odin’s imprisonment left me all but powerless, the last of which, _incidentally_ , I used to free you.”  He stepped closer to the dark-headed god and his voice took superior, yet still alluring, tone.  “Besides, if I wanted to destroy Asgard, why would I wish to share the glory with _you_ _?_ ”

 _Freedom. War. Glory._  Loki was playing these bloodthirsty gods like an instrument, and Lira’s eyes eagerlyflicked between them, not wanting to miss a moment.

Unsurprisingly, Ares had stood his ground when Loki drew close to him.  They were almost eye to eye.  Now the God of War made a show of looking Loki's narrow frame up and down.  “Tell me this, _Trickster_ , why would Odin inflict such a severe punishment if he simply wanted our attention?  His expression darkened significantly.  “He could have just asked.”

Smoothly, Loki stepped back and walked to his stone throne.  He seated himself, settling in comfortably.  “Can you see the All-Father coming to you on bended knee?  Begging you to attack his own kingdom?   _Owing you a favor_?”  Loki snorted.  “Odin is many things.  Humble is not one of them. _Trust me._ ”

When the pair continued to look at him suspiciously, Loki went on.  “It is likely Odin did not know the full power of the artifact.  It is ancient.  Even _I_ have not known about its existence until now.”  Loki extended the hand holding the God-Jewel.  “But if you are _still_ unconvinced, test it.  Feel the taint of Odin’s magic on it yourself.”

Stubbornly, Ares pressed his lips together, but a moment later, his eyes flashed and a black glow appeared around the God-Jewel.  Another moment passed and it was gone.  Ares set his jaw but said nothing, and Lira knew that the god’s magic had confirmed Loki’s claim.

“I believe him, Brother,” said Hercules suddenly, clutching Ares’ arm, and Lira understood: Loki had predicted that the arrogance, boredom, and brutishness of Ares’ younger brother would be the final suasion (personality traits which were no doubt due to the deep-seated insecurity of Hercules’ partial divinity).  

Hercules’ other hand formed a menacing first as he continued.  “I have long wanted to test the worthiness of this _God of Thunder._  The weapon he wields is known throughout the realms.  It would be a worthy prize, Brother.”

Ares had cracked; Lira could tell.  If she hadn’t already figured out Loki’s strategy, she would’ve marveled at the God of War’s restraint.  But then her many years of watching gods and mortals reminded her that there were many areas of warfare.  Ares was lauded throughout the realms as a master tactician--surely he knew that a firm hand was needed to hold the leashes of the dogs of war.

But then again, he was a god.  And gods grew _bored_.

Ares seemed to sigh.  “I will go to Zeus.  If he finds your argument truthful, we will assemble our armies and attack at dawn.”

Loki tilted his head in a respectful bow.

Lira looked around the room.  Now the eyes of all four men matched.  With a flurry of winds and a crack of thunder, the three Greek gods vanished.

It wasn’t until later that Lira realized that the youngest among them, Dionysus, hadn’t said a word…

 

* : * :  * : * : *

 

Asgard’s Great Hall was packed to the brim.  It seemed _everyone_ was there to witness the union of Odin’s eldest son Thor to the mortal Jane Foster.  Everyone… except Loki.

But not for long…

The mortal had just finished walking down the aisle to meet Thor at the front of the hall, and Odin had barely opened his mouth to speak when it happened.  The large twin doors to the hall flew open, buffeted by a howling wind that whipped around the room, scattering all manner of fancy dress of humans and gods alike.  A swirling column of green fire materialized right before the couple, but before the crowd had even had a chance to react it was gone, and in its place was a woman-- _Loki._

Just like the throne he had conjured out of the rocky floor of his cavern, just like _everything_ he did, Loki was meticulous in the design of this female form.  She was beautiful-- _of course_ she was beautiful--but it was a different kind of beauty than most, with none of the features Loki found too common.  No, _his_ female form was ethereal, with pale skin that shone like moonlight on marble, long black hair that hung like a dark curtain to his waist, and large green eyes that were both inviting and full of secrets.  It was the type of appearance that rose above all else, the kind that could cause instant arousal in those attracted to him and admiration for those who simply were lovers of exquisite things.  If one looked closely, the echo of Loki’s male features was still there, having only been made softer and fuller by the beauty of femininity.  There was a slender nose that rested between lovely cheekbones; full black brows; and wide, red lips that could twinge hearts all on their own.  There was also the rest of the body: tall, especially in regards to the average Asgardian woman, long-legged, and wonderfully _curved_.  It was a form that felt good to him, as whole and right as any of his other shapes, and as Loki looked around the hall, his heart contracted gloriously as he spied every stare.  

“Well, well, what a lovely gathering this is,” he said.  His voice was husky and alluring, a throaty purr.  Lightly, he brushed the silk of his green dress and brought a hand up to the fur around his bare shoulders.  “I was so worried I’d be overdressed.”

“Loki...”

Frigga had stepped forward, and despite the concern writ large on her face, Loki had never seen her look more beautiful.  He smiled at her.  “Hello Mother.  I see you’ve invited everyone from all nine realms.”  His eyes fell on two Dwarves, and for a brief moment, the smile flickered on his face.  “Including the _peasantry_.  But you seem to have forgotten someone.”

Now it was Thor’s turn to speak, but all he could do was repeat Loki’s name like an echo. Odin’s _esteemed_ eldest son was never one for words.

Loki raised a slender hand.  “It’s all right,” he said gently.  “I understand.  I only wanted to stop by and present the happy couple with... a _gift_.”

Odin was shaking his head, his knuckles white as he gripped Gungnir, his one eye sparkling with growing outrage.  But this was Loki’s stage, and soon the All-Father would learn that he couldn’t do a thing.  For the first time, he was utterly, horribly _powerless_.

And Loki could only smile.

“Don’t worry, my dear, _sweet_ family.  All I want to bestow upon you is a _song_.”

And without waiting for a reaction, Loki’s mouth opened, and he began to sing.

 _I feel like I've been the finest fool_  
_Hanging on by my fingertips_  
_The ground gives way beneath my feet_  
_A black cloud descends_  
_I lose my grip_  
_Buried in the mud_  
_Lying here with no relief_

As he sang, Loki looked around.  Every face in the hall was turned towards him and each one was familiar.  He could remember every expression that the faces had ever displayed: happiness, contentment, elation, sadness, anger, derision.  Even confusion, like the kind reflected on many of the faces now.  But never before had he seen those expressions turn from simple, open-mouthed curiosity to _full blown_ _fear_.  Loki smiled and sang louder as the first cries of pain rang out from the crowd.

 _The world I've known is paper thin_  
_Torn in shreds my finest hour_  
_A drowning man still battling_  
_One breath rattle gathering_  
_Dust is dust, clean me now_  
_All my strings are gutted_  
_Turn it down_

Naturally, it was Thor who acted first.  As his almost-wife collapsed into his arms, her eyes glassy and unseeing, the Thunderer stumbled towards Loki, his mighty arm outstretched.  With wonder in his heart, Loki watched as Thor tried summoning the physical manifestation of his virility, the magical weapon that Loki could never seem to possess.  That precious gift from their father had aided Thor's every conquest--but it wouldn't aid him now.   _Nothing_ could help Odin's golden son this time.  Idly, Loki admired Thor’s strength; his brother had been the only one to actually move closest to where he was standing.  Thor was gasping; Loki could see that he was trying to scream in fury and heartbreak, but the deadly spellsong was doing exactly what Loki had wanted: be the herald of his revenge, and, poetically, the source of it.  Loki could see them all, those familiar faces, confident no more.  He could see the exact moment when the cursed vocal found its root in their bodies.  The people were shrieking in pain, blood flowing from every orifice.  Loki was so elated his voice seemed to rise into the heavens.  No one could stop him; such were the depths of his pain, the heights of his power.

Even the All-Father was on his knees.

 _In the paralytic nursery of bygone fears_  
_My old adversary reappears_  
_Still confronted by the many faces of Eve_  
_No matter how I try to heal this injury_  
_Still the trophies line up on the wall_  
_Pride that comes before a fall_

As he sang the last verse, his eyes closed and the cacophony of wails overcame his other senses.  He savored the sound, _memorized_ it.  How long had he waited for this moment?  Schemed for it?  How much had he had to endure, the lies--the betrayal--the pain?  It was all worth it, Loki realized suddenly, _all_ of it.  Every harrowing experience.  For in that moment, he had never felt so powerful, so triumphant, so truly like _himself_.

A loud clanging sounded, and Loki’s eyes snapped open.  Mjolnir had finally appeared, having flown straight to Thor's side--but it was too late; Thor’s lifeless hand could not grasp it.  Every other person was the same: strewn out on the floor; body on top of body; their last horrible moments frozen on their faces.  All wonderfully, beautifully, _dead_.  Now the wild beating of Loki’s heart was the only sound he heard as he stepped carefully through the hall, his eyes drinking in every sight.  Finally, Odin’s throne stood before him and he settled on it without hesitation, casually pushing the All-Father’s prone form aside with the pointed tip of his shoe.

And it was then that Loki noticed the All-Mother lying face down on the ground by Loki's feet.  She and the All-Father had died reaching towards each other, and Loki’s heart shuddered as the sight of them reached out to consume his vision.

A chorus of loud caws interrupted his reverie, and the room was suddenly full of life once more.  Crows, hundreds of them, were flying in from the open windows.  They circled the hall, filling the air with wingbeats, and Loki knew immediately why they had come.

To pick at the eyes of the dead.

 

* : * :  * : * : *

 

Loki almost fell from his seat.  For a long, terrible moment, the dream had felt incredibly real, and he didn’t know where he was or what form he was in.  The emotions he had felt during the nightmare careened through his body, and Loki covered his face with his hands.  Why… why did this keep happening to him?  He sat there, breathing heavily, the silence of the massive rock walls around him suffocating him like a tomb.

Time passed--minutes or hours, Loki didn't know, but the intrusive feelings weren’t fading, so Loki leaped to his feet and stumbled down the dais’ steps.  He didn’t know what he was doing, but soon he was standing in the doorway of his bedroom.  His fake bedroom.  His real one was miles away.  Or… maybe it wasn’t.  Had he ever had a bedroom--a home--at all?  Not knowing the answer, Loki looked down.

Lying on the floor of his fake bedroom was Lira.  Her eyes were closed but he could tell she wasn't asleep.

“Why are you not sleeping in the bed?” he asked her in a whisper.  Solemnly, her answer uncurled in his mind.

_ <Too soft.> _

Loki’s brows drew together, and he was quiet for a long moment.  Then...

“Just... try it.”

Even though it wasn’t a command, the girl got up immediately, climbed into the bed, and laid down-- _except_ with her head at the bottom end and her feet on the pillow.  Something was lightening within him, and Loki could almost feel himself smile.

“Most people sleep the other way…  Well, really, you can do whatever you want.  It’s just--here--”  She had laid atop the blankets, so Loki twitched his fingers and the blankets reappeared over her with a soft whooshing sound.  He placed the pillow under her head and stepped back.

“I can cast a sleep spell, if you like.”

Slowly, a headshake.  

_ <I don’t want to sleep.> _

“Why not?”

_ <Bad dreams.> _

_What nightmares plague the dreams of the mighty god-killer?_ Loki wondered.  He was going to keep the question to himself, but seeing her lying there…

He tried to sound casual.  “Like what?”

She was quiet for a long while, and the silence was there again, burning his throat.  Finally:

_ <Being alone.> _

Loki’s words came out of him in a rush.  “That’s funny,” he said, even though it wasn’t, “I dream about the same thing.”

Lira’s eyes were shadow-filled in the flickering torchlight, but the _look_ in them…

The pair lapsed into silence, but this time--somehow--it didn’t burn.  Loki didn’t know how long he stood there looking down at the girl as she looked up at him.  All he remembered was a small hand reaching out from beneath the covers and him grasping it.  A moment passed.  The girl closed her eyes.  And Loki cast the sleep spell.

Slowly, Lira’s hand dropped out of his, and he settled it at her side.  Gently, he reached down and placed a hand on her head, his fingertips caressing her curls lightly.  Then, quietly, he left the room.

****

There was nowhere he could go.  Nowhere he _needed_ to go.  Like a ghost, he wandered the hallways of his hideout, his eyes roaming the walls but not really seeing them.  There was nothing he needed to do.  Everything was in place, every small piece.  Tomorrow, both Asgard _and_ Midgard would be laid to waste.  Finally, he would have retribution.

Dully, he remembered how he had felt the night before a battle in his youth.  The anticipation and adrenaline had already begun coursing through him, making sleep all but impossible.   But he didn't feel that way _now_.  This time, he didn't feel _anything_...

There was nothing for him to do but sleep.

Loki looked down.  He was standing right next to his stone throne.  He ran a hand across an armrest.  It was cold.  Would the real one feel the same way tomorrow?  He hoped it wouldn't.

He climbed into the seat and wrapped his arms around himself.  His eyes closed as he tried to prepare himself for a restless night of half-consciousness.  Tomorrow... tomorrow he would finally be able to sleep in peace.  Just make it until tomorrow.

It didn't take long for the night to take him, filling his mind with dreams so lucid, they could have been memories....

 

* : * :  * : * : *

 

She was rocking side to side with a gentle rhythm, like a mother settling a baby to sleep within her arms.  Her eyes were half-closed, not smiling crescent moons like Loki had seen before, but serene and far-looking, as if lost in a daydream.  She did not pause as he approached, and for a moment, Loki simply watched her lightly swaying form, suddenly feeling like he was intruding on something private.  Finally, his curiosity peaked, he spoke.

“What are you doing?”  

When she answered, in her way, it astonished him.

_ <Singing.  In my head.> _

She looked up at him, seeming to take notice of his question-filled silence.  Then her eyes flicked away to stare unseeing at the dark land before them.

_ <I used to sing.  Before…> _

And to Loki’s even greater surprise, she began to cry.  He stood there feeling frozen, as if he had just gripped the Casket of Ancient Winters for the second time, and he had to stop himself from reflexively looking down at his hands to see if they had turned blue.  The tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, tiny darklights, but they stayed there as if they, too, were frozen.  She did not let them fall.  A brief moment passed and then her eyes were normal again, as emotionless as they had been when Loki had first spied her through the glass.  It was like Loki had just witnessed the evolution and _devolution_ of a world in the span of a minute, and it was curious and abrupt and, Loki couldn’t believe it _\--gut wrenching_.  Lira was gazing over the vast Asgardian dark as if nothing had happened, but Loki noticed she swayed no longer.

His mouth dropped open, suddenly, like a trapdoor.  And he began to sing.

 _If the wild bird could speak_  
_He’d tell the places you have been_  
_He’s been in my dreams_  
_And he knows all the ways of the wind_

It was a slow, draw-out melody, sung with a soft wistfulness, like a lullaby.  In fact, he had been a child when he had heard it, and that memory was both happy and unhappy, like Lira’s tears.  A darklight.

 _Polly, come home again_  
_Spread your wings to the wind_  
_I felt much of the pain_  
_As it begins_

A knife.  Blonde hair in his hands.  Anger.  A smack, hard, across his face.  Loneliness.  The images, the _emotions_ , rose unwillingly in his mind as he sang, but he could not stop, the singing _or_ the remembering.   What was happening to him?

 _Dreams cover much time_  
_Still they leave blind_  
_The will to begin_  
_I searched for you there_  
_And now look for you from within_

Frigga.  It was his mother who had sung it to him.  The memory hung there in his mind, teasing him, paining him like an ugly clawed hand gripping the lids of his eyes, forcing him to look.

_“Isn’t she amazing?”  Thor breathed.  He was smiling as he watched Sif disarm Volstagg with a complicated sword maneuver that had been delivered with a grace and a speed that was marveling given her young age.  Volstagg’s sword (which had been twice the width of Sif’s sleek blade) hit the floor with a clang and he gaped down at it, his eyebrows disappearing into his red hairline in surprise.  Then he threw back his head and filled up the training room with laughter, the belly that was beginning to form at his midsection shaking with mirth.  The boy clapped Sif on the back, and she, being a reedy wisp of a girl, was knocked forward, her head sinking low to the floor.  Tossing her blonde hair out of her eyes, Sif straightened and gave Volstagg an annoyed looked that was marred by the hint of an affectionate smile.  Loki watched it all, his eyebrows knotted and his eyes narrowed._

_“Doesn’t look like much to me,” he scoffed, sounding bored._

_“Oh, Brother,” Thor said, and his voice was like it usually was: loud and tinged with gaiety, like it was always on the verge of a laugh.  A_ mocking _laugh.  “Are you still mad at her for beating you that one time?”_

 _“She did_ not _beat me.”_

_“She did,” Thor reminded him with a smirk.  It had been the first time that the Asgardian youth had been given the opportunity to spar one-on-one, and it had been highly anticipated.  Everything they had been practicing had been leading up to this.  Gone were the structured cuts, parries, thrusts, and blocks--the only things that Odin’s master swordsman had allowed them to practice for years.  A free-form fight was the time for muscle memory and quick thinking--a test of how well they had absorbed the material all this time.  And Loki had not done well._

_He had been stronger than Sif (though not quite as tall), and he was just as fast, if not faster, than she.  But halfway through the fight, he had let his overconfidence gain control of his mind and his movements.  With what felt like all of Asgard watching, Sif’s blade had snaked through the smallest of openings to leave him flat at his back, sword on the ground, the tip of Sif’s blade at his nose.  Thor and the other trainees had whooped and clapped, and Loki had felt heat creep up his neck.  Sif was breathing quickly, and Loki had a brief, odd moment where he wondered what it'd be like to be near enough to feel_ her _heart beating rapidly in her chest.  She raised her blade, her face radiant with surprise and delight, and a strange, new feeling rose up through his embarrassment, deepening his flush.  She held out a hand to him, and he took it, pulling himself to his feet.  He let go very quickly.  He felt confused in a shaky, feverish sort of way, but then a voice had rung out through the training room, and his bemused feelings had vanished._

_“Well done, young Sif, well done.”_

Odin _, giving the praise that should’ve been Loki’s.  It was well know around the kingdom that Odin was not quick to laud, and Sif’s face had brightened even more so, glowing as bright as her hair._

_Loki’s face, on the other hand, had darkened, and his jealous feelings weighed hard and heavy in his chest like a large block of ice.  They stayed with him, and even though there were times since then when he had succeeded in besting her, he could see no smiles and admiration directed towards him; all were for Sif._

_Volstagg’s ruckus laughter had whittled down to pleasant chuckling.  Still he patted Sif on the back but somewhat more gently now.  “You are the fiercest warrior maiden in all the land,” he told her with a smile.  Sif tried not to beam._

_“There will be some time before that is true,” she said, ducking her head to hide her youthful blush.  Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders, falling like shining silk._

_“It is now as it will be then,” Volstagg replied, obviously doing his best to sound older than he was._

_“Indeed,” Thor said, equally lofty, and Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes at them both.  Thor got up from the bench where they had been sitting and entered the circle.  He clapped his hand on Sif’s shoulder.  “And when I am king, you will ride beside me in battle, and we will lead my armies to victory.  You will be my most trusted warrior, my right hand.”_

_“Better you than me,” Fandral told Sif as he came forward to stand among them.  He grinned cheekily.  “_ I _certainly wouldn’t want to be Thor’s right hand.  Goodness knows what he does with it.”_

_Volstagg guffawed again as Thor dove at Fandral, knocking him to the ground with an exaggerated bellow.  The two blonde-headed boys began to grapple with one another playfully, and soon everyone was laughing._

_Everyone_ except _Loki.  He was staring at Sif, watching her slender shoulders rise and fall with laughter, her cheeks still flushed from the fight with Volstagg.  The strange feelings were back, and he hated them and hated_ her _for the control she seemed to have over him._

_That night, he cut her hair._

_He had snuck into her room, slipping silently through the open window as if he were only mist.  He could have magicked himself into the room, but he was tired from casting the tricky spell he had put on the knife in his hand.  One slice from the small blade would deaden anything that lived, and as he stood looking down at her sleeping form, he suddenly wondered what would happen if he touched the blade to her sword arm.  The thought frightened him, and he shook his head to clear it._ **** _Sif’s hair was spread over her pillow like a fan, shimmering silver in the moonlight._

_Asgardian hair.  Long and light as the sun.  Not black like a shadow._

He _was a shadow.  An ugly black mark on the crest of the House of Odin.   Always behind, never in front, always ignored.  Despised, even.  His skill in magic grew every day, but instead of being praised for it, he was cursed, taunted.  “Magic was women’s work,” they would spat at him, smirking.  And here, sleeping before him, was a girl who had defied her parents_ and _the law by deigning to take up the sword like a man would.  To don breeches instead of a dress.  To ride horses and grapple in the dirt.  And she was_ praised _for it._

_The knife’s blade hit the pillow and Sif’s hair was released.  He gathered the long glistening strands in his hands and peered down at them, emotions working furiously in his heart.  The hairs were so smooth, and he got lost in their lightness, their glimmering, as he cradled them like a precious thing.  That was when he heard a rustle._

_She had awoken._

_She sat up quickly without warning, and Loki would have backed away in surprise if he could move.  He had forgotten how fast she was.  Her light eyes widened in shock as she stared at him, her mouth open in confusion, no doubt wondering why he was standing over her in the half-dark.  But her confusion lasted just a second, for her hands suddenly flew to her hair as if they were eyes that had spotted the nothingness there.  Loki had cut off the hair past her ears, and what was worse was that the knife’s spell had worked: in the moonlight, he could tell that the remaining hair on her head had turned black.  Dull and black, like a shadow.  Like_ his _._

“What did you do?” _she screamed at him as her hands fell clumsily around her head, searching for hair that was not there.  She sprang from the bed and rushed past him to look at the large mirror hanging on the opposite wall.  From where he stood, still frozen and clutching the handful of golden hair, he could see her expression.  This time, he backed up a step.  Then another.  His muscles were tense with anxiety, straining like a wishbone ready to snap, and he was just about to run when she was in front of him, looming larger than she could possibly be, consuming his vision._

Smack!

_A hand, hard across his face.  He was sent reeling towards the floor, his eyes watering and his breath gone.  His face burned so much from the force of the blow it was as if she had shot a fireball at him.  Fine blonde strands of hair settled on his knees and on the floor around him, having been knocked free from his grip.  He looked up at her, tensing for another blow._

_But it did not come._

_Instead, she fell on her bed crying, her hands over her face.  Loki had never seen Sif cry, and for a moment he stared at her, transfixed once more.  Then he fled.  She did not follow him._

_It was Frigga who had found him the next day.  Her blue eyes had been flashing with anger as she approached, but they softened when she drew near enough to see his anguished face.  She had sat next to him on the cold marble floor and pulled him onto her lap, cradling him in her arms like she had done when he was a much smaller thing.  The only words on her lips were song lyrics that were bittersweet with love and longing and loss, and as she sang, Loki found himself closing his eyes and drifting away with the melody, his aching heart settling to a murmur.  Frigga had chosen the song well; she must have known that a jaunty tune and hopeful, positive words would not heal him, and that the closest thing that could was empathy._

_Polly, come home again_  
_Spread your wings to the wind_  
_I felt much of the pain_  
_As it begins_

_When Loki saw Sif again, she did not speak to him.  Neither did Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, or the other children they associated with.  Thor followed suit, too dumbfounded by Loki’s actions to say a word.  Even the palace attendants seemed icier towards the younger prince.  When Loki was brought before Odin, his father simply had to look at him, disapproval so deep in his eyes that Loki felt permeated by it, and that had been punishment enough.  The palace’s coolness towards him waned in time, but it never went away completely, even after he had wordlessly approached Sif one day and enchanted the remaining short strands on her head with Dwarven hair so that it would grow again.  It would not turn blonde (that was beyond the scope of his power), but it was beautiful, long and strong and thick as a black rope, and he would never forget how she had looked at him then, his own confused feelings mirrored on her young face._

_Soon she would turn to look at Thor in wonder, and Loki fell behind once again, swearing to himself that if he had to be_ in _Thor’s shadow, he would do so by filling it with darkness and nightmares.  Each new day brought Loki closer to the realization that he did not belong.  He was a blight, a_ scourge _on the grand history of Odin’s kingdom, and nothing his mother said or sang to him would_ ever _destroy the well of coldness that burned deep within._ Nothing _, he told himself firmly, Frigga was nothing to him.  Sif, Odin, his brother--they were_ all _nothing!_

He _was nothing..._

Loki felt the prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes, and suddenly the present was rushing back to him, and he stopped singing, the unfinished notes hanging ghost-like in the air.  Lira’s eyes were on him like they always were, but in them now was a new emotion that took him a moment to place.   _Understanding_.  Even though he had stopped singing, the words of his mother’s lullaby began to echo again in his head, and it was then that he realized that _he_ wasn’t the one thinking them.  It was Lira.  She had started to sing the song again, filling his mind with the words she had just heard.  Wordlessly, he strode forward and swung himself into a seated position beside her, his legs dangling over the edge of the balcony, falling into blackness.  And together they sang the song, him humming the melody, her providing the words in both their heads, the edge of her dress resting against his leg, their elbows touching....

 

* : * :  * : * : *

 

The next morning, when Loki broke free from the steely grips of sleep, he would only remember vague parts of this memory-filled dream, and none of the parts that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could say that I wrote the two songs in this chapter, but I didn't.
> 
> The first one is "Fire On The Moon" by Steve Hackett.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kgKg8924Eg4
> 
> The second is Alison Krauss and Robert Plant's version of "Polly Come Home." 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAL1fSBmpRA
> 
> I know their voices are somewhat different, but Robert Plant just happens to sing here exactly like I imagine Loki would... ;-)


	15. The Darkest Hour

“Pick one.”  The voice is low, expressionless.

She looks at the choices before her.  Both are small.  One is furred with a tail wagging happily and bright eyes looking up at her expectantly.  Vaguely, she recalled seeing a few of these creatures milling around the huts of her homeland--snapping at the heels of sheep, playfully nipping at hands, begging to be fed or petted.  A _dog_.  She looks at the other.  This one she knew immediately: a baby boy, fair-haired, with eyes as bright as the dog’s and cheeks ripe for pinching.  Barefoot but dressed in a simple shirt and pants.   He, too, was looking up at her, smiling a toothless grin, and as he extended chubby arms towards her, she had the sudden urge to pick him up.  But she didn’t move.  “Pick one,” her master had said.  But why?  And where did they come from?

This wasn’t like her master’s usual teachings.  Confused, she points to the dog.  In the sparse torchlight of the cave, her master’s eyes are all she can see of his face.  They blink slowly, once, as if bored.  Then a soft hiss comes out of the darkness, carrying words that she’s heard many times before.

“Kill the other.”

_Kill._

She feels like the floor is falling away from her, leaving her floating--no, _falling_ \--through darkness.

_Kill the other._

This was just like her master’s usual teachings after all.  Knowing that if she dawdles, she risks further malfeasance, she raises her hand.   _Make it swift_ , she thinks, and she does so.

The sound the child makes is clipped. _Just like his life_ , she thinks, her mind hazy.  There’s a pool of blood slowly spreading beneath his small, prone form, and the dog (who, upon her attack, had backed away in surprise) now has its hackles raised, its teeth bared.  Thoughts and feelings swarm within her, making her tingle.  They confuse her.  Her chest seems hollow, and yet her heart is beating in double-time.  She feels sick, a dark, black sickness, and yet also strangely detached.  Like this wasn’t her doing at all.

The dog is growling.  The sound seems to snake through her body, rattling her bones.

Suddenly, there is a horrible squelching sound, and her face is sprayed with blood and bits of viscera.

The dog is gone.

Her master’s staff is raised, pointing towards where the animal had stood.

She’s moving--no, her feet are still planted--the air, the cave around her are moving--

A transportation spell.  Her master’s magic, once again.  She lets it carry her until the spinning stops.

She looks around.  The place, the faces, all unfamiliar.  More eyes this time, staring up at her, and not with smiles--with looks she’s been taught to demand, to love.

_Fear._

She’s in a room with one door and many windows.  Shafts of sunlight permeate the room, falling on a number of bright and colorful things: stick-figure-like drawings on the walls; flags and paper lanterns strung from the ceiling; tiny wooden desks pushed to the sides of the room; bookcases overflowing with a multitude of writing utensils, books, and strange-looking toys; a glass aquarium that holds various aquatic creatures; a collection of cuddly-looking stuffed animals piled in the corner.  In the middle of the room is a large mat; sitting on the mat are children.  A woman is with them, young-ish with shoulder-length brown hair and a dress of unusual style.  The god-killer thinks her face would be pretty if it wasn’t twisted in alarm.

This place… so unfamiliar and yet not at all.  The papers strewn everywhere, the stacks of books, the markings on the front wall: This was a place of learning.  A school, in a realm the god-killer had never been to before.

The hushed silence is broken by her master.

“I don’t go to all this trouble to watch you destroy something with such laziness, you _inutile wretch_.”

He is displeased.  She tries not to quiver as he slowly approaches her.  Here, in this room, in this realm, they are out of place.  In the sunlight, she can see all of her master, the tanned skin stretching over a bare chest, the elaborate golden headdress with the snake emblem in the middle, the sinisterly-cut face, the rings in his ears and lips, the richness of his clothes.  The large hand that grips his staff is pale at the knuckles, and she wonders if he will beat her again.

He stops in front of her.  She can’t escape the sting of his gaze.  Wildly, she wonders what to do.  She wants to stand her ground, look at him defiantly, _disobey him_.  But she knows better.  Swiftly, she gets on her hands and knees before him and bows her head.  “I am sorry, my master.  Please forgive this wretched one,” she pleads, and she means it.

When he doesn’t respond, she lowers herself to the floor.  Her heart hammers in her chest, and she repeats herself, a tremor of fear now coloring her voice.  “ _Please_.  I am yours to command.  Tell me what I must do.”

The silence is so thick, she thinks of it like a creature, darkness made flesh, suffocating her.  Then--finally--

“Get up.”

She does.  A wicked smile glints in her master’s green eyes, and she suppresses a relieved sigh.  He is pleased.  Thank goodness.

“We’ll try this again,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.  He steps aside and points his staff at the huddled group on the floor.

 _“_ Pick one.  And make it slower this time… _”_

 

* : * :  * : * : *

 

 _“Make it slower this time.  More elaborate, more painful.  We won’t stop until I am satisfied.  Be creative.  Show me there is a_ mind _behind that pathetic stare of yours.  There are many realms with places like these, and we can go to all of them…”_

Lira’s eyes snap open, and she tumbles from the bed.  A dream, a horrible dream!

_No…_

She tries to stop herself from dry-heaving on the floor.  It pains her ravaged throat.

Not a dream.  A _memory_.

She’s up and running down the hall, her shadow following frantically behind her in the flickering torchlight.  She does not know where she is going, but she runs anyways as if doing so could outrun the horrid thoughts in her head.  She wants…  What _does_ she want?  She is not supposed to want or feel anything.

But she knows what she wants.

Touch.  She craves... _touch_.

Though unwilling, the desire bursts within her like a swallowed star, and it courses through her body until all her nerve endings feel like they are on fire.

Touch.  A gentle hand on her head, an arm around her shoulders--anyone’s.   _Please._

Her previous master would hold her sometimes, after the girl had followed her orders particularly well.  Even after the Enchantress had taken her face, Lira would still crave the woman’s hand upon her head.

 _Like a dog_ , her subconscious would scold her bitterly, and Lira knew it was true.  But in her mind, it was the one thing she desires that is actually _allowed,_ so when it is offered to her, she claims it without hesitation.  How could she not?  She has nothing else.

She stops.  She’s reached the largest room in the series of connected caverns that form Loki’s hideaway.

Loki....

He’s here, thank the Elders, he’s here in this room, sitting on his stone throne.  His back is to her, and it looks like he’s resting his head on his hand.  Is he asleep? she wonders.  No matter what she is feeling, she hesitates, afraid to wake him.

_Kill the other._

She shakes herself wildly then creeps into the chamber.  It feels like the floor is disappearing beneath her feet, receding into the blackened corners that the torchlight can’t reach, so each step is hesitant, spurred only by her desperation to get to her master in the center of the room...

Finally, she reaches him.  As she slowly approaches the front of the throne, she can now see that Loki’s eyes are closed and his breathing is steady--he’s asleep.  Lira looks around herself as if the rock walls could tell her what to do.  It doesn’t help, but the memory flashes in her mind again, and she steels herself.  She reaches out a hand.  And Loki’s eyes open.

Like a terrified animal, she freezes, one hand inches from his own.

He blinks but doesn’t react any further, and Lira realizes that he’s hovering between the realms of sleep and the living.  Were nightmares holding him back, keeping him within the darkest dimension of them all?  The one that could cause the deepest pain without even a touch?

Slowly, Lira sinks to the step next to Loki’s feet.  She waits a whole minute before reaching up and gently grasping Loki’s hand.  When he doesn’t stir, Lira moves his hand next to her face and she leans against it, both hands still clasping his fingertips.  It takes a long while for her chest to stop heaving, but when it does, she closes her eyes and sinks into a daydream where she has the power to will Loki’s nightmares away.

****

Loki opened his eyes.  A light had flashed beneath his eyelids, waking him.  Gradually, he uncurled himself, wincing at the stiffness of his body.  He knew he had slept for hours, but he didn’t feel at all refreshed.

“Trickster.”

Blearily, Loki looked up.  Ares and Hercules stood before him, decked out in their battle armor and making Loki’s cave seem much smaller than it was.

“It is time,” Ares said evenly.  “Our army lies ready and in wait before the nexus between our realm and yours.”

“You will need to know the quickest routes to the palace,” Loki said as he fought back a yawn.  “Luckily, they are known to me and I will tell you them.”  And he did.

To an outsider, it would appear that Loki had no reason to lie.  But he _did_ lie.  He didn’t want anyone to get to the palace before him.  Because the palace was his.

 _Odin_ was his.

Loki could tell by Hercules’ grip on his sword and the straining of his muscles that the half-god was ready.  Dawn must be approaching soon, and Loki felt the sleepy, cold heart in his chest start to stir.

Another flash of light split the air, and suddenly a woman was in their midst.  Even though Loki had never met her, her recognized her immediately: Athena, the Olympian Goddess of Wisdom.  She was strong-looking and attractive, with bright blue eyes and hair the color of sun-kissed wheat.  Just like her brothers, she wore armor as well (shiny gold armor that matched her hair), but something in her face suggested that she hadn’t appeared in their presence to join the fight.

“Ares, this isn’t wise,” she said.  Her voice was mature-sounding and whispery, despite looking like she was at the height of health.  It was also strangely commanding, as if she had captured all their attentions in a bottle.

“You weren’t put in that thing, Athena,” Ares replied, his face softening uncharacteristically.  “You don’t know how it was.  The desolation.”

Athena walked forward and placed her hand on the side of Ares’ face.  “I know.  And I weep for you, Brother.  But this isn’t the way.  War, murder, destruction--it won’t help you.”

“It will,” Ares said simply, and Loki wondered if, in another lifetime, he and Ares might have been friends.

“Step aside, Sister,” said Hercules.  “Dawn approaches.”

Athena’s lips flattened into a line as she looked at her younger half-brother.  “ _You_ shouldn’t be here, Hercules.  These aren’t mortals, they are _Norse gods_ , ruthless, barbaric, practically immortal and guided by a Skyfather.  You could get yourself hurt--or _worse_.”

Underneath his tan, Hercules’ face reddened, and Loki smirked to himself.  This was working out better than he had planned.

Hercules had drawn himself up to his full height.  Half of his face was cast in shadow, but still his feelings were clear.  “Move, Athena, or I will move _you_.”

She moved, but only to stomp her way to Loki.  She put her hands on the armrests of the throne and leaned towards him, her eyes flashing like lightning.

“If this is a trick, Loki, so help me, I will find you, and I will kill you.”

Loki couldn’t help it, he flashed her a simpering smile.   _What happened to ‘murdering doesn’t solve problems,_ ’ he snickered to himself with a hint of satisfaction.  When he didn’t respond, Athena stepped back, and with a final piercing glare around the room, she vanished.

“Who is she?” Ares asked suddenly, and for one confusing moment, Loki thought that _another_ Olympian had appeared in their midst.  Alerted by Ares’ gaze, both he and Hercules looked to the left of the dais.  Sitting at the top of the steps with her back against the side of the throne was Lira.  She wasn’t looking at them, but that didn’t matter--Loki felt a column of warmth rush into him, setting his heart aflame like a wildfire.   _Kill, rage, destroy…_  The feelings burning in his chest were intoxicating, and he let them spread through his body, devouring everything in their path, even his very thoughts.

When he answered, his voice was tinged with awe.  “A reckoning.”

He didn’t see Ares shake his head or raise his eyes to the ceiling.  He didn’t hear Hercules’ disdainful snort.  His focus had shrunk until all it contained was himself, Lira, and their twin fires of vengeance.  His lovely little killer.  How the worlds had turned on her.   _But not for long._  Soon, the realms would be down on their knees before them, and Loki would give her the greatest gift he could think of: _a world remade_.

“It is time,” Ares said again and Loki automatically rose to his feet.

****

“Who is she?”

“A reckoning,” Loki had said, and though his eyes had been filled with love, Lira felt like she could she his _other_ face if she just tilted her head to the side...

_Oh, Loki..._

****

The Olympian army wasn’t just a mindless mass of expendable beings... though it wasn’t entirely made up of gods, either.  It comprised representatives of all species who called Olympus home and those who owed the gods their livelihood.  As Loki walked casually up the side of its swollen ranks, he tried not to grin at all the fools he had tricked.  There were cyclopes, satyrs, demigods, demons of Hades who were almost translucent in the light of the overworld, a large herd of heavily-armed centaurs, green-scaled gorgons that Loki gave a wide birth, and several monsters who looked like the mixed up creatures a child would create.  Loki could see the wild-looking hunters of Artemis (with Artemis herself strangely absent), the bronze beaks of Stymphalian Birds, and a tense group of demigods who were struggling to hold onto the leashes around the necks of a three-headed hydra.

And in the front of the army, looking so resplendent that Loki himself was impressed, was the God of War.  He was seated on a handsome-looking black steed that was several sizes larger than normal.  And impatiently standing beside _him_ was the Lion of Olympus, his large hand grasping the reins of a white pegasus.  Both gods were looking at him, and after a moment, Loki nodded and began preparing his spell.

There was to be no triumphant charge or intimidating war cries.  The Olympian army was to enter Asgard completely unnoticed, with Loki using magic to cloak them.  Casting an invisibility spell on five thousand creatures was no small feat, and since Loki was _supposed_ to be low on power, he was to guide Lira through it… at least that was how it was going to look to the crowd.  In reality, Loki was _hardly_ powerless, and he was going to secretly supply his magic to the invisibility spell as well.  Lira looked up at him and nodded; she was ready.  Trying to ignore the five-thousand-strong-gaze weighing on him, Loki closed his eyes.  He felt an explosion of warmth beside him, and then Lira’s power was surrounding him, its strangeness making him tingle.  He began to mutter the spellwords.  His well-practiced tongue slipped over and around the words with ease, and soon a flickering glow appeared around the throng.  As the army began to disappear, Loki still didn’t relax, even with Lira’s warm magic surrounding him, lightening the pressure.  Now the army looked like it had vanished, except for a slight ripple in the air whenever one of them moved.  Loki dropped his hands and stepped back, his breathing harsh.  Keeping such a big spell going was like having to drag one’s attention away from the pulsing pain of a migraine, and Loki was glad that he didn’t have to hold the spell for long…

A whooshing blue-colored portal appeared in front of him, and Loki knew that Ares had opened the nexus between the realms.  It was going to take awhile for all of the army to pass through, so Loki plopped down on the ground and closed his eyes, determined to go over the plan again in his mind.  As far as following through with it, well, he didn’t need convincing, _not_ anymore, and he could hardly remember a time when he did…

_ <Loki.> _

“What?” he muttered distractedly.  His mind was so full of nightmarish thoughts, he had barely heard her.

_ <Loki, let’s go.> _

“It's not yet time.  The army is only half-way through.”

_ <I know.  I mean, let’s get out of here.> _

“What?” he questioned again, suddenly more alert.

_ <There will be so much going on, we could leave and no one would know.> _

Loki couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “You… want me to leave?  Before my time of triumph?”

The old Loki would have questioned her, asked for an explanation and then picked it apart to make sure he understood every piece.  But this new Loki… this new Loki was a man consumed.

He opened his mouth and another voice came out.  “I thought I knew you.”

She was looking distressed, and Loki shifted his gaze, looking anywhere that wasn’t her.

 _ <You _ do _, you do know me.  It’s just--I…  Even if I can’t leave,_ you _could…  You could go. > _

Her thought-speak was so hesitant, so broken, he could barely understand it, but it didn’t matter--he didn’t _want_ to put the pieces of her scattered thoughts together.  He could feel her searching for his eyes, but he didn’t give in, even when an anguished whimper seemed to sound in his head.

 _ <Loki, _ please _.  Please, just leave.  Go anywhere._ Please _. > _

“Yes, _beg_ ,” Loki snarled at her.  “It’s all you know how to do, isn’t it?  Can't you think with a mind of your own?”

Now he looked at her, but the girl dropped her head, hiding any tears from his view, and Loki didn’t care.

The _beast_ didn’t care who it sank its teeth into.  It only wanted to be fed.

****

"Can't you think with a mind of your own?” he had growled at her, and Lira hung her head, trying not to cry.

For once, she _had_ been thinking with a mind of her own.

****

To the Asgardians living on the outskirts of the palace, this morning had been like any morning.  Sleepily, they stretched and rose from their beds.  They checked on their cattle.  They looked for eggs in the hen house.  They fed and washed their horses.  They greeted neighbors.  The little ones ran underfoot, chasing each other each other with wooden swords as they played make believe.  Who were they imagining themselves as? Loki wondered, even though he knew the answer.   _Thor._  It was always Thor.

The anticipation within him was so strong, he could barely keep his mind focused on the invisibility spell.  So… he dropped it.  His power whooshed back into him, relaxing him greatly, but he didn’t let it still.  He kept it there, on the edge, on his fingertips-- _ready_.  Loki smiled.  

****

It was hard to tell who had been more surprised.  Moments before, the village square had been like it usually was, quiet, vacant.  The marketplace that usually inhabited it wasn’t supposed to open for several hours, and only a few of the more punctual vendors were already there, setting up their stalls in the half-dark.  So when the square was suddenly filled to the brim with warriors and strange creatures, it was the _strangers_ who cried out in surprise.

Ares swung his head around, his eyes wide.  The Asgardians were gaping at them, the shock and fear etched deeply on their faces.  The soldiers were looking at each other in confusion, and Ares _knew_ : the invisibility spell had been broken... _much_ earlier than had been promised.

As screams filled the air and his startled army began their attack without him giving the word, Ares looked around for Loki.

But Loki wasn’t there.

He was already inside the palace.


	16. You Always Hurt The Ones You Love

Hopeless.  That was what Lira was feeling as she followed Loki through a dimly lit underground trail beneath the palace.  There was no hope.  By the time she had decided to act, it had been too late.  

A muffled explosion shook the rock walls around them, loosening a cloud of dust on their heads.  The battle had begun.  There was no stopping it now.

How many would die today because of her?

How many would die, again.   _Not again._

 _Yes, again_ , a little voice in her head whispered.  Always again, over and over.  A never-ending cycle.

Violently, her heart clenched, and she stumbled as she tried to keep her body from freezing in shock.

That was it.

That was who she was: The ending.  The unmaker.  The _twilight_.

Why else would she have the power she had?  It was right there in her name: _God. Killer._

And if she wanted to be anything else, she would fail.  Repeatedly.  Because she was always _meant_ to fail.

Twilight always came before the dawn.

She should have cried, fallen to the ground in a pitiful heap of despair.  Made Loki admonish her, reject her, again.  But… she didn’t.  For the first time since she had been released from her prison and let loose into the living world once more, she felt… at peace.

This was who she was.  She knew it now.  And all those years spent wondering about her existence, hoping that she was more than just a destroyer--they didn’t matter.   _Look_ _forward_ , she told herself.  Because that was where her destiny lay.

It was time to play her part in her master’s plan.

****

Gaea leaned back in her chair, her breathing tight.  She couldn't believe it.  For the first time in a _very_ long time, Gaea was feeling afraid.  Her poor, sweet humans.  Was this what it felt like to feel such a terrible emotion so deeply?  She had known that when she agreed to play Set’s “game” there were things that could happen that she wouldn't like.  But nothing… nothing could have prepared her for _this_.

_Oh, Set…_

She pressed her lips together, her eyes darting frantically around the board.  In front of her there was a sound like an ostentatious tapping of fingernails on a table, but she refused to be distracted.  Her mind was rapidly flicking through each potential outcome that remained.  She shook her head.  She clenched her fist.

There were no more moves that could save her.  No matter what happened, Set would win.

All this time, Gaea had been wrong.  Her brother _was_ evil.  She believed it now.

And that was when Gaea finally decided...

She would have to cheat.

****

The path was rising.  It was only a slight shift in incline, but Loki felt it.  He had walked this dark passage so many times, he could easily close his eyes and let his feet do the guiding.  But he didn’t want to close his eyes.  He didn’t want to remember the last time he had walked this hidden passage, or the time before that.  Out of all the secret ways into the palace, this one was the quickest, and he had used it to flee to the relative safety of his childhood home far too many times.

Loki’s feet stopped.  They had reached what looked to be a dead end.  But, of course, it wasn’t.  Loki had magicked the counterfeit rock wall when he had been just a boy, and he would do the same years later with his mountain hideout.  But as Loki walked through it this time, he waved a hand and the magic powering the spell swooped back into his body.  He didn't even need to turn around to know that the counterfeit wall was gone.  After today, he would never need to use a hidden way into the palace again.

They had emerged in the large walk-in pantry next to the palace’s main kitchen, and Loki was not surprised to find it empty.  By now, the emergency protocols would have been set in motion, and with any luck, Loki wouldn't run into anyone on his way to the throne room.

And--luckily--he didn’t.  As Loki stepped into the Great Hall, he could hear the sounds of the battle ring through the open doors.  He couldn’t tell who was winning (and he didn’t care either way), but he knew that it wouldn’t take Ares long to reach the throne room.  He had to prepare.

“Lira,” he said, not looking at her.  “Open a portal to Midgard.”

There was a whooshing sound behind him, but Loki barely heard it.   A few feet ahead of him was the gleaming gold throne of Asgard.  He stared at it, transfixed.  There it was, in the living, the only thing that had helped wrench himself free from the dark dimension of his dreams morning after morning.  He almost couldn’t believe it.  So many years spent prodding his pain, of immersing himself in the horrors of his mind, just so he could remember what all of his effort was for.  And now here it was, just within reach, the glorious purpose he had created for himself when destiny had betrayed him.  

If Loki hadn’t been so consumed by the nearness of the throne, he might have been able to protect himself from the blast of power that threw him headlong into the dais’ stairs.  Pain ripped through his body, and he fought to keep a hold on his consciousness.

“ _Loki_ ,” boomed a voice and Loki’s head snapped up.   _No_ , it _couldn’t_ be, he had lost track of time, he--

" _Odin_ ,” Loki said, spitting out the name like the poison it was.  “I am not surprised to find you cowering in the palace and not on the battlefi--”

Violently, Loki’s throat restricted.  As he struggled to breathe, the words died on his tongue.

The All-Father was walking towards him, Gungnir shining in his hand.  Still gasping painfully for breath, Loki watched as Lira sprang into the air above him, her arms protectively stretched out to her sides.  Loki’s eyes flashed, and he forced his breathing under control.  He opened his mouth, preparing to sear the All-Father with his words, tell him _exactly_ what he was going to do to him and his kingdom.  But no words came out, and he realized with a horrible, shocking jolt: _he couldn’t speak._

“I am _tired_ of hearing your voice,” Odin growled, sounding nothing like Loki had ever him heard before.  A large, crackling ball of fire formed in Lira’s hands, and with a mighty heave, she threw it at the All-Father.  Loki had seen her do this many times before--witnessed the destruction it caused--so when Odin merely raised Gungnir to collect the energy and then throw it back at her with a lazy flick of his arm, Loki stared.  

“I am _tired_ of your words.”

Lira and the Allfather were now locked in a power stand-off, both focusing sizzling blasts of light towards each other.  As Loki saw Lira’s feet began to slip backwards, he made to rise and help her, _but_ \--

The light around Gungnir pulsed, and suddenly Lira was flying over his head to smash into the back wall.  Odin swung Gungnir in a wide arc around him, and now Lira was flying the opposite way--through the double doors, into the foyer, smashing column after column--until she hit the front wall of the palace with a resounding crash.  After a long moment, her limp form peeled off the wall and fell to the floor, taking chunks of stone with her.  As the dust settled, all that peeked out from the large pile of rocks was a slender brown arm.

“I am _tired_ of your lies.”

Now Odin’s attention was back on him, and before Loki could react, he felt a painful pulling sensation.   _No!_ he thought, but he couldn’t do a thing.

His magic was being ripped away from him.  Odin took it all, even his Glamour, and Loki gaped as his Asgardian regalia disappeared, leaving him only in his plain tunic and pants.  He could see the bruises on his wrists, feel the scars around his mouth.  Loki’s power had left him as easily as if it had never been his in the first place.  He tried to rise, but even this he couldn’t do: Odin had magicked his skin and clothes to stick to the ground.

He couldn't speak, couldn't use his magic, he couldn't move.

As Odin came to stand before him, power radiating off of him like heat and his one eye blazing like the sun, Loki couldn’t believe it:

All these years... all the time Loki had known him... Odin had been holding back.

****

As Odin watched the masked girl rise up in the air before him, he didn't panic.  His heart didn't quicken.  His knuckles didn't tighten around Gungnir.  His magic was there under his skin, thrumming peacefully like the purring of a wildcat.  He already knew he would win.  Nothing could stop him.  Nothing _ever_ stopped him.  Not even someone as powerful as a _Skydaughter_.

Odin lived in a world made of _glass_.  One tap of his finger could shatter demons and gods alike.  For most of his long life, he had resorted to fiercely monitoring himself, controlling any urge lest his power split the ground wide open, destroy an entire race, or _worse_ \--harm a loved one.  Such was the life of a Skyfather, and Odin had accepted it long ago.

But _not_ today, and as his power buffeted Loki's companion around like she was made of air, he felt no remorse.

“For two thousand years, there has been peace between us and our Olympian brethren,” he said evenly, looking down at Loki’s shocked face.  “And with a handful of lies and a heart full of blackness, Loki broke it.”

The silence in the hall was so strong, it was as if even the battle outside had stopped to listen.  

With a small sigh, Odin shook his head.  “But my eyes have been opened.  I can see now that I was wrong.”  Forcefully, he bashed the butt of Gungnir on the ground, his voice rising harshly with every word.  “ _Wrong_ to take you in, _wrong_ to let you live, _wrong_ to give you a life here among the Aesir.”

The look on Loki’s face was a twisted mixture of shock, anger, pain, and something else that Odin couldn't place--but it didn't matter.  He was done _feeling things_ about Loki.  He was done arguing with Frigga.  He was done trying to assuage Thor.  He was _done_ with spending sleepless nights pacing back and forth, wondering and worrying if each decision he made was the right one.

_“Odin!”_

He didn’t turn.  Automatically, he magicked an invisible wall around Frigga, stopping her approach several feet behind him.  He could hear her muffled cries and the banging of her fists against the shield, but he ignored it.  Now, unlike so many times before, she wouldn’t be able to interfere.  Calmly, he turned back to Loki.

“What you have done is my fault,” he said, his face expressionless.  “But I will right it.”

He lowered the tip of Gungnir to point at Loki’s face.  

There was a faint echo in his head, calling his name over and over.

He reared his arms back.  

The sound of the voice seemed to increase, but he ignored it.

His hands tightened on the staff.  He readied himself to strike.  

“ODIN!”

The muscles in his shoulders contracted as he thrust the staff forward.

And there was a horrible squelching sound as the point of the staff met its mark.

Odin raised his arm, releasing the staff.  Sticky yellow liquid that looked strangely like sap was dripping down the length of the blade.  Feeling mildly bemused, he looked around.

The throne room was gone.   _Everyone_ was gone.

He was standing in a forest.  Everything was so bright and peaceful, Odin knew it wasn’t real.

“ _Odin_.”

He didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

“Gaea.”

The Earth Mother approached him, anger snapping like lightning her eyes, a stark contrast from the tranquil beauty that surrounded them.

“How _dare_ you, Odin,” she hissed, her voice sounding surprisingly like a basket full of snakes.

“You have been visiting your brother for too long, Gaea.  You are starting to pick up his bad habits.”

Unsurprisingly, Gaea ignored him.  “I cannot believe your actions, Odin.”

“And I cannot believe yours,” Odin replied with a wave at their surroundings.  Again, the Earth Mother ignored him.

“You are _not_ the man I knew.”

“Much can change in two thousand years, Gaea.”

At this she was quiet, but her eyes didn’t stop their burning.  Finally, Odin sighed.

“I know you do not care about me, but make no mistake, he will kill your _son_ , Gaea.”

“He won’t.”

“He _will_.  And all of your beloved children on Midgard.  Stop lying to yourself.  You know it to be true.”

Gaea was shaking her head, but Odin could tell that she believed him.  Finally, it was her turn to sigh.

“Have you ever stopped to wonder _why_ , Odin?”

“I know why,” Odin replied simply.  “Loki is meant to bring about the destruction of Asgard.  And not just its physical destruction-- _all_ of it.  The entire cosmos.”  When Gaea simply stared at him, he went on.  “Yes, I admit at first I had hoped that he would help bring us closer to peace with Jotunheim, but that fell aside when I learned of his true purpose.  But what was I to do about it?  He could never be killed; Frigga would never allow that.  For many years, and for many sleepless nights, I pondered this.  But I needn’t have worried.   _He_ would eventually present a solution _himself_.  With his actions on Midgard and Frigga’s desire to keep him alive, I saw an opportunity.  I thought that by taking away his freedom, he would not be able to set into motion the events that will lead to the twilight of the gods.”

A severe frown had appeared on the Earth Mother’s face, standing out from the rest of her wrinkles like a deeply-carved relief.

“If I am the first of my incarnations that has learned of this before it happened, well, obviously, I cannot say,” Odin continued with a slight shrug of his shoulder.  “But I will _not_ let it pass.  Not this time.  I will stop this terrible cycle if I have to destroy the act of death itself.”

“Who told you this?” Gaea interjected, her frown having morphed into a look of alarm.  “There is no way you could know of this.  You were told.   _Who?_ ”

Odin knew he didn’t have to say a word; he saw the very moment the answer bloomed like a dying star in her eyes.  As the realization snaked its way through the rest of her body, and as he watched Gaea’s spirits crumble, Odin couldn’t help but feel a stab of sorrow.  Even Elder Gods were not immune from piercing the hearts of the ones they loved.

“Well, this is not why _Loki_ is doing what he is doing,” Gaea replied sharply, wiping the back of her hand against her eyes.  “ _He_ doesn’t know about the role he plays in Ragnarok.”

“I know all about his imagined slights--”

 _"No_ , you _don’t._ ”

And so Gaea told him.  And Odin didn’t believe her.

He _couldn’t_.

Gaea’s eyes were flashing once more, and she drew near, her finger pointing into his chest.  “ _Still_ you try to control everything, Odin!  You are so arrogant, you can’t even believe that something like that would happen in your own house.”

Odin had turned away from her and placed a hand on a nearby tree trunk to steady himself.  He was silent for a long while.  Then…  “I thought that keeping Loki imprisoned would stop him from setting the end-times in motion.  But I only managed to hasten Asgard’s destruction, and Midgard’s as well.”  Briefly, Odin covered his eyes with a hand.  “I have grown too old, too stuck in my ways.  Too blind.”

“Precisely why all things must end.”

He knew that she would say this, and he let her, even though it burned.  He needed to hear it out loud.  With another sigh, he turned to face her.  He set his jaw.

“I will right this.  Send me back, Gaea.”

Gaea pressed her lips together as she looked at him.  Every part of her had changed since he had last seen her, so many years ago, except for her eyes.  They were still as green and bright and beautiful as he remembered.  Thor might not have inherited their color, but he had inherited their depth.

She hadn’t moved or said a word, but Odin felt his body start to fade.

“Was he ever your son, Odin?” she whispered to him.

Odin paused for a long time before responding.  “He was.”

Just before her face disappeared from his sight, he heard her voice ring in his ears: “ _Liar_.”

_Clang!_

Odin looked down.  He was back in the throne room, crouched over Loki’s body, and the point of his spear was stuck in the marble floor inches away from Loki's head.  This time, Odin’s large, steady heart couldn't help but falter at Loki's expression.

“I was wrong” Odin repeated, but the meaning, and his voice, were completely different this time.  “I was wrong.  But I will make it right.  You want me to go, I will go.”

He straightened up and opened his hand.  A green ball of light appeared in his palm, and with a flick of his fingers, it went rushing back into Loki, and his Asgardian armor reappeared on his body and his scars disappeared.  Odin turned.  He looked at Frigga, trying to memorize her, but he didn’t want to remember her this way, with the look on her face so full of sorrow and regret.  He brought the tips of his fingers to his lips and blew a small trio of lights towards her, carrying his last words, and the invisible shield around her disappeared.

“The throne is yours,” Odin said quietly, turning back to Loki.  “Do with it what you will.”  The air began to shimmer around him, and he dropped Gungnir to the floor next to Loki.  It hit the ground with a clatter that reverberated eerily throughout the quiet hall.  Even with the Silencing Spell gone, Loki still didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to; his expression still managed to burn Odin just as if Loki had spat him the most hateful of words.  The light around Odin was getting brighter, and as he began to feel the familiar pulling sensation of a transport spell, he reached out a hand towards Loki’s face, lightly touching the small scars that he knew were around his mouth.  Odin’s eye softened then grew sad.  Renowned among the nine realms as the greatest of orators, and yet he still couldn’t free the small group of words that were right there on the tip of his tongue.  Light consumed his vision and he closed his eyes to it, feeling its heat on his eyelids.

It was the last light he would ever see.  And it was what he deserved.

****

Lira couldn’t believe it.  Odin had disappeared.  She had crawled to the floor by the doors of the Great Hall just in time to see light envelop the Allfather’s form.  Another flash pulsed through the room and he was gone.  Pain wracked her body and there was blood dripping from several wounds, but she didn’t care.   _Loki._  She had failed him.  What disaster had her failure wrought?

But he was there, he was _alive_ , lying at the bottom of the golden throne, and Lira wanted to collapse on the ground and slip into a wakeless slumber.  But… she wasn’t done.  She still had a part to play.  He was counting on her.  With her muscles screaming, she grasped one of the large door handles to try to heave herself to her feet.  That was when she noticed that Frigga was also in the room, looking as shaken as Loki did.

“Muspelheim,” the All-Mother whispered, shock still radiating from her eyes.  “He told me… before he left…  He was banishing himself to Muspelheim.”

At this Loki seemed to unfreeze.  He got to his hands and knees.  He hung his head.  “No,” he said to himself.  His fist hit the ground.  _“No!”_

Then a cry split the air, so loud and full of heartache, Lira’s head whipped around, startled.  But there was no one else in the room with them.

It had been _Frigga_.

“ _My baby…_ ” she was saying.  She stretched out her arms towards Loki and took a shaky step forward. _Loki_ , _my baby_ , my child, _I am so sorry_ … I-I didn’t know...”

Now Lira was staring.  Frigga’s voice was so pained, so wrought with devastation and heartbreak, Lira felt like she could feel her despair as strongly as if it was her own.

“My baby boy... I am sorry… I didn’t know… I didn’t know...   _Oh, Loki..._ ”

Frigga had reached him.  From this angle, Lira couldn’t see her face, but she could see Loki’s.  He was staring up at the woman, mouth open, the expression on his face a terrible mask of painful realization and the greatest of sorrows, and Lira couldn’t help it--even though she didn’t understand, she felt tears form in her eyes.

Now Frigga had kneeled by his side and taken his face in her hands.  “My baby boy... I am sorry… I am sorry… I didn’t know...”

Loki had his fists clenched around the fabric of her skirt.  As Lira watched, a tear rolled down his cheek.  He looked up at the Allmother, and even though he only whispered, the words seemed to ring through the hall, tearing through everything in their way as if they were the most powerful of spells.

_“Too late.”_

Frigga’s body froze.  “No…  No, Loki, please...”

Loki got to his feet.

“Loki, please, _please--_ ”

Still looking at her, he backed up.

“Loki, no!”

And with a last look and a final step, he disappeared into the portal.

“No, no-- _Thor!”_ Frigga cried.

And as if she had summoned him herself, Thor came flying in from the outside, his armor banged up and scratched, blood dripping from Mjolnir.  He landed and crouched by the All-Mother, throwing his arms around her with a concerned look in his eyes, but she only pointed towards the still-swirling blue portal.

“Bring him back,” she cried, now hysterical.  “Bring him back to me!”

And Thor knew.  Without a word or even a second glance, he raised Mjolnir and flew into the portal.

There was a noise like an explosion that sounded behind her, and Lira shakily got to her feet.  Limping slightly, she started walking forward, her mind trained on one thing: Her part… her part…  She had to do her part…  She raised her arms, and her magic filled up the room.  Frigga disappeared.  All that remained was the portal to Midgard.  She dropped her arms and turned towards the open doors as she heard the Olympian army thunder up the stairs...

****

Ares was the first into the hall.  He was breathing heavily and the grip around his sword was tight.  His once shiny armor was now dull with blood and blaster marks.  These Asgardians, with their energy weapons and consummate fighting skills, had proven their claim as one of the most powerful races in the universe, and they had made Ares’ journey to the palace take longer (and be more eventful) than he would have liked.  So when he stepped into the hall and his eyes fell on the surprising sight before him, he was not pleased.

Odin All-Father was on his knees in front of the throne, but a second later, a blast of red light surrounded his body and he disappeared.  Now the only person standing in the throne room besides himself was an unfamiliar man in a red-and-gold-colored iron suit.  And in the man’s metal hand was _the God-Jewel._

“Oh, hello,” the man in iron said, his voice annoyingly jaunty.  “I’m afraid you’re late to the party.”  With one hand, he tossed the God-Jewel up into the air and caught it.  “You want Odin, you’ll have to come and get him.”  And a mask slammed down over his face and he rose into the air.  “Mind the gap,” his now tinny-sounding voice taunted, right before flying straight into the portal.

****

A skateboarder was the first to find it.  In the middle of Central Park stood a massive, two-dimensional whirlpool of light.  The boy stepped off of his skateboard and stared at the towering thing, his mouth open.  Soon, other people had joined him, shielding their eyes from the sun as they stared up at it, the looks on their faces all the same: _What was it?_  In no time at all, police officers and people dressed in black seemed to materialize all around them, setting up a perimeter around the swirling blue thing, their many guns at the ready.  The boy wanted to stay (did he just see a flash of red, white, and blue through the trees?), but he and the other civilians were being forcefully dragged from the scene by some of the agents in black.  A tense moment passed, and then suddenly the boy learned why.

****

As he swirled through the portal, Loki’s thoughts seemed just as twisted.  Again, _again_ Odin had bested him… but he had never seen the look in his eye before he disappeared… But Odin was poised to murder him…  He was going to do it this time…  He _should’ve_ done it…  He had so much power…  More power than even the god-killer....  How had Loki not known?

And Frigga… she knew...  How did she know…?  But it was too late… too late….  When it came to Loki… everyone was always too late....

And his plan…  Odin had obliterated his plan in seconds...   _No, no…_ too late… to late...

But no… it _wasn’t_ too late…  There was still Thor.  There was still... _Midgard_.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his thoughts seemed to settle at the same time his feet did, and he stepped out of the portal and onto a long stretch of grass.  The now-familiar shining metal towers of New York City rose up behind the trees all around him, but his attention was instantly diverted.

“ _Loki_ ,” rang an emotionless, metallic-sounding voice, _“you are surrounded.  Walk towards us, slowly, with your hands in the air.  If you make any sudden moves, you were be subdued.”_

Loki didn’t move, and after a long minute came and went, there was an ear-splitting roar and a mighty crash: the giant green monster had landed in the clearing, his massive feet leaving two holes in the ground.  The monster roared in his face, as if he needed to remind Loki about the last time they had met on the battlefield.  Loki should have been afraid.  His body should have tightened as the memory of being smashed around like a rag doll hit him.  But it didn’t.  After all that had just happened, he didn’t think he could ever smile again.  But the emotion swelling inside him now was so far from terror, an unrestrained smile stretched across his face in response.  

And that was when all the power and might of the grand Olympian army burst forth from the portal behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: I know that in most stories (and the myths), the Norse gods are aware of the cycle of Ragnarok, but in this story, I've made it to where the Asgardians in this universe are less informed about it. I did this because I feel that a lot of interesting tension is lessened or removed when characters are aware of their destinies/futures (i.e. "Why fight Armageddon when it's meant to happen anyways?"). And also because I like the idea of such long-lived characters becoming arrogant enough to believe that they will never die (or that they *should* never die *cough*Odin*cough*).


	17. Reckoning

In all his time spent playing the trickster, nothing could have prepared him for the hilarity of seeing the faces of the green giant and the surrounding humans as they saw the horde of mythical creatures appear behind him.  Human screams split the air, but they were all but drowned out by the cries of griffins, the roars of chimera, and the monstrous bellows of the three-headed hydra.  But Loki didn’t have time to gloat.  He had ducked as the creatures soared over him, but he knew he had to get away before he was spotted by Ares or Hercules.  There were hisses and cries and a thunderous pounding of hooves, and, without even a glance back, Loki turned to grab the reigns of a black pegasus.  Deftly, he swung himself on top of it, pushing the demi-god that was riding it to the ground.  With a kick of his heels, the pegasus flew upwards, taking him higher and higher until Loki was level with the tops of the buildings.  As Loki steadied the pegasus in the air, he looked down.  What a _sight_ his retribution made.

He couldn’t see them, but he knew the Avengers were there in the thick of it all.  By now, his brother was likely there as well.  What would Thor think of this?  Would he recognize him now, as Loki stood above the ashes of his second home?  Would the two parts of Loki, the one Thor saw with his eyes and the one he saw with his mind, now match?  With a dark sense of satisfaction, Loki knew that they would.

Thor and his beloved humans had wanted the monster and they had got him.

_“Trickster!”_

Well, well, spotted already, Loki remarked calmly to himself.  He heard the sound of wingbeats approaching, and then Hercules shot up in front of him, riding a pegasus of his own.  He had blood on his arms and face, but it was impossible to tell if it was his.  But what Loki _could_ infer was that the Olympian probably wasn’t going to be handing out friendship bands anytime soon.

“Ares promised me your head!” he snarled, pointing his sword in Loki’s direction.

“Are you sure it wasn’t Athena?” was Loki’s dry reply.  When Hercules only growled, Loki rearranged his features into a well-practiced look of innocence.  “What did I do?”

“You lied.  The Midgardians have Odin, and you're in league with them.”

Loki almost laughed.  Did this half-god only have half a brain as well?

“You orchestrated all of this,” Hercules continued.  “You knew the Asgardian army could not defeat us on your own, so you enlisted another realm’s help.  For all I know, your tiff with your mortal-loving brother might be fabricated as well!

This time Loki did roll his eyes.  “Oh _please_.  Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this.  You’ve been dying to slake your bloodlust for centuries now.  Who you fight and why you fight them doesn’t matter as long as it lets you bathe in their blood!”  Here Loki paused, smiling wickedly, and his voice took on the mocking tone that was his trademark: “All peace and no fighting makes Hercules a dull boy!”

Hercules’ response was a growl of rage, and he swung his sword in a wide arc around his head.  Loki felt the air shift, and there was a noise that sounded strangely like a whirlwind of steel blades coming towards him.  Instinctively, Loki urged his mount into a barrel roll, and the deadly whirlwind whooshed over his head, missing him by inches.   _Oh, you are dead now, half-blood_ , Loki thought through gritted teeth.  Steering the pegasus with his legs, he threw a series of green dagger-shaped spells at the half-god, but Hercules swatted each one away with his sword.  The men circled each other in the air, each looking as if his gaze had the power to scorch the other.  Both were readying their weapons for another pass when a thunderous, echoing roar split the air.  Startled, Loki looked down.

It was the _hydra_.  Red-eyed, three-headed, yellow-fanged, and covered in black scales, it was clawing its way up the nearest building, the looks in its six eyes determined, as if he and Hercules were the only two creatures left in the world to feast on.

Loki turned back to Hercules.  “Umm, I believe that is yours.”

“And I believe _that_ is yours!” Hercules yelled gleefully, pointed behind him.  Loki’s ears filled with the sudden whirring of helicopter blades, but before he could turn, a torpedo shot through the air and hit him, completely obliterating his mount.  As pain burst in his chest and he struggled to breathe, Loki could just barely sense that he was falling--but he certainly felt when he had landed.  The ground beneath him wasn’t solid, but slippery and rocking like a boat, and Loki didn’t want to open his eyes.

He had landed right on top of the hydra.

 _Olympians and their ridiculous monsters!_ Loki thought angrily to himself as he struggled to maintain his footing.  He looked up.  Two of the heads were chasing Hercules through the sky, and the third was being peppered with torpedoes from a Midgardian helicopter, the same one that had shot Loki down.  As he watched, the hydra head opened its mouth wide (displaying several rows of deadly-looking teeth,), and with a speed that was shocking given its size, it stretched its neck out and captured the helicopter in its jaws.  It shook the helicopter from side to side a few times, and Loki could just barely make out the terrified faces of the Midgardians rattling about inside it.  Finally, the head opened its mouth and the mangled remains of the helicopter fell to the ground and exploded.  A satisfied smile spread across Loki’s face--but it didn't last long.  Now missing its toy, the third hydra head had spotted him.  With a spine-tingling roar, the head shot down towards him, its shadow blocking out all light, and Loki started to run, sprinting around the large spikes on its back.

“Aarrggghhh, I _hate_ things with multiple heads!” he yelledto himself as he ducked another lunge from the giant, snapping maw.  A few strange moments of peace passed before Loki realized that the head had stopped chasing him.  Feeling confused, he turned…

...just in time to see Hercules slice through its neck with his sword!  The half-god was zooming around the hydra, expertly guiding his pegasus under and around serpentine necks and vicious snapping teeth.   _Which_ Loki might have been impressed with if it wasn’t for--

“You imbecile!” he yelled.  “Stop cutting the heads!”

With the hydra distracted, Loki slid down one of its legs and onto the street.  He jumped over the hydra’s swishing tail and backed up.  His jaw dropped, and he backed up some more.  Now the hydra didn’t have three heads.  It had _fifty_.

With a soft fluttering of wings, Hercules came to land beside him.  And to Loki’s even greater surprise ( _and_ annoyance), the widest of grins stretched across the half-god’s face.

“Ha!” Hercules cried.  “ _Now_ it is a _proper_ challenge!”

Loki stared at him, his mouth open.  A beat passed.  And then--

“What?!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.  

Hercules only smiled.

Loki’s sigh came out more annoyed than he had intended.  “Wonderful.  Well, have fun,” he grumbled sarcastically.  He turned to leave, but a loud snapping noise sounded above him, and he threw himself to the ground.  He felt the hydra’s hot, foul-smelling breath on his face as one of the heads whooshed by him, its jaws stretched wide.  He looked up and immediately rolled the other way as a second head smashed its teeth into the spot he had just left.  Another second passed, and again he was on his feet, zigzagging across the ground as head after head snapped at him, hurtling down from above and hitting the asphalt behind him like a volley of missiles.  “Aaarrgghh,” he huffed.  “Tasty human morsels are that way, _that way!”_ he cried, pointing hysterically, but of course, the hydra didn’t listen.  He was having to move so much, he couldn’t think to cast any spells, and he would’ve missed the new sound that rang through the air if it wasn’t for the fact that it was so out of place: a hugely uproarious laugh.   _Hercules_ ’ laugh _._

“I think she likes you!” he called, having taken to the air once more.

“She?” Loki shouted back incredulously.  Still running, he angrily waved his hands.  “Stop flitting about and start cutting the heads!”

“I thought you did not want me cutting the heads?” mocked the half-god as he soared through the opening between two undulating necks.

_“Just do it!”_

And looking very much like the hero of legend, Hercules flew through the nest of writhing necks, cutting down head after head with every swing of his blade.  And Loki was right there behind him, throwing fistfuls of fire at each severed stump to cauterize them.  Soon Loki had run into the nest itself, sprinting up and down necks like they were roads, all the while dodging teeth that were as long as he was tall.  Sometimes Loki would miss and the head that had just been cut off was now a pair, and Hercules would yell a mocking “You’ve got to be faster than that!”  And Loki would just growl loudly to himself and double his efforts.  Caught within the viper's den (almost literally), he lost track of time, and when the last stump had been cauterized and the hydra’s body crashed to the ground with a resounding thud, Loki had all but forgotten that at one point, he and Hercules had wanted to kill each other.  He stood there on the street, breathing heavily, as Hercules landed next to him and dismounted.

“Athena is going to be angry with us for killing her pet,” the half-god said as he surveyed the hydra’s remains with a look of satisfaction.  “But I have been trying to persuade her to let me fight it for centuries.”

“That was Athena’s?” Loki huffed, his eyebrows raised.  “Why am I not more surprised?”

“She may not advertise it, but she is quite the warrior herself.  If you were wise, you would find yourself a suitable place to hide.”

Loki snorted and shook his head but he couldn’t help but smile as he did so.  He took a step forward, but was immediately stopped by Hercules’ sword across his neck.

“I was promised a head,” the half-god said, his voice, and his gaze, noticeably colder.

“Yes, and you got fifty,” Loki replied with an eye roll.  “Besides aren’t you tired of cutting off heads?  Such a messy business.”

Hercules continued to glare at him.  Then a roguish smile spread slowly across his face.  “ _Never_.”

He lowered his blade.  “You have proven to be more interesting than I had expected,” he said as he sheathed his sword.  “Maybe I will let you live.  See what... _trouble_ you get into, trouble that I will have to clean up.”  He swung his legs back over his pegasus and the look on his face was wolf-like.  “Or _kill_.”

“Well, if I plan on loosening any more monstrous creatures into the world, you’ll be the first to know,” Loki replied, feeling amused.  He shot the god a sideways glance.  “Care to put in a good word for me with Ares?”

With a flick of the reins, the Lion of Olympus rose up once more into the air, and his only answer was a raised eyebrow and the hint of a sly smile.  Loki watched him leave with his own lips curling ever so faintly upwards.  That had actually been… _fun_.

****

It was chaos.  As Lira flew over the tops of skyscrapers, she could see all of Loki’s pain and heartbreak spread out below.  She hadn’t seen destruction like this in a couple millennia, and she wondered if these three powerful realms would end up simply destroying themselves like so many other great civilizations in the past.  She had seen so many wars, so much death....  Had each one been her fault?  She knew that she could try convincing herself that she was only a mere pawn of the powerful, just one of the many checkpoints on the road to Armageddon, but... that _still_ wouldn’t refute the fact that she had a part to play.   _And_ that she had played her part to the fullest.  Each time.  And seemingly on and on, into oblivion.  She glanced down at her large, armor-clad body.  What a strange, human-made contraption.  As gaudy and over-the-top as its creator.  And, Lira hated to admit, kind of cool, actually.  So far, impersonating Iron Man had been one of the more fun Glamours that she had ever had to don.  Maybe she would take the real armor and keep it for herself.  Then push its motor-mouthed owner off of a cliff to see how well he would fly without it.  

Speaking of which… where was he?  She had a fun little present to give him.  She flew lower, zooming around buildings, her eyes straining to see any small flash of red and gold.  And sooner than she had anticipated, she found him.

He was flying several feet off of the ground, shooting repulsor beams out of his palms and trying to outmaneuver a trio of fierce-looking Stymphalian Birds.  Their beaks and feathers were razor sharp and made out of bronze, and they especially loved eating people.  Had they eaten many humans today? Lira wondered as she watched the quartet zip around each other.  An arrow came whizzing down from above to bury itself right into one of the bird’s necks.  For a moment, it didn’t look like it had slowed the bird down at all, but Lira was not surprised when the bird’s limbs went rigid and it suddenly tumbled to the ground.  It hit the pavement with a loud crash and a shower of metal feathers (with some feathers sticking up from the ground like knives).  Lira looked up.  That brown-haired, muscle-y-armed archer was perched on a fire escape halfway up a building, and he had already refitted another arrow to his bow.

“I think poison is the only thing that’ll down ‘em, Stark, and you know what that means!” the man yelled.

“Yeah,” grumbled the voice that came out of Iron Man’s helmet.  “I’m the bait.”

“Bring them over towards me!”

“You better be ready!” Iron Man called back.  

Stymphalian Birds didn’t hunt in packs like other large birds of prey, likely due to the overconfidence their armor afforded.  This also happened to remind Lira of _another_ armor-clad creature, and she watched him duck and counter the birds’ chaotic attacks with amusement.  She had no doubt that he would win this battle, but his fighting style could certainly use some finesse.

Now what about his companion?  Lira turned her head to look at the archer.  He had one foot against the metal railing and had notched two arrows to his bow.  He barely blinked as he followed the birds’ sweeping moments.  His focus was so strong, he probably wouldn't notice Lira if she snuck up behind him, but where was the fun in that?  She wanted to see their faces.

“Get ‘em over here, Stark!” the archer called.

“What do you think I'm doing?” countered Iron Man, sounding annoyed and slightly out of breath.

The birds were darting quickly around him with no discernible rhythm of attack, but they were flying too close to Stark for the archer to safely take his shot.  Then Iron Man’s thrusters seemed to all go out and once, and he began to fall.  Mindlessly, the birds dived after him, but he pointed both palms up at them and two repulsor beams shot out to stun them both.  In the three seconds it took for the birds to recover, the archer took his shot.  Unsurprisingly, his aim was true, and after a quick moment, both birds had seized up and crashed to the ground.  But Iron Man was still falling.  It looked like he was going to crash as well, but then his thrusters reignited and he spun away, missing the pavement by inches.

Lira clapped her metal-clad hands as she floated forward.  She had heard Stark talk enough to mimic his voice perfectly, and as her thought-speak bubbled up in their heads, she was once again glad for the cover that the helmet provided.  Keeping the Glamour around her ruined mouth was painful, and if a person looked closely, he’d be able to see it flicker as she struggled to hold onto it.

_ <Hi.  Nice work.  I loved that little pirouette you did in the air.  It was cute.> _

Immediately, Stark raised his mask as if he wanted her to see his surprised expression.  Lira just shook her head.  What was with heroes and wanting to show their faces?

“What the hell?” said the archer as he approached them.  Lightning fast, he notched an arrow in his bow and drew it back.  “One of you is Loki.”

“It’s him,” both Starks said automatically, pointing their index fingers at each other.

Lira skimmed Stark’s mind.   _Ah._

_ <Clint, if I was Loki, would I remember that time you got drunk in Barbados and I found you naked on the beach wearing nothing but a banana leaf and some twine?> _

This gave the archer some pause, so Lira added a follow-up thought, her palms raised: _ <Like I promised, I haven’t told a soul.> _  She glanced over at Stark’s flabbergasted face and almost laughed.  Had she just stunned him into speechlessness?  He was no doubt wondering how his impostor knew this secret piece of knowledge.  Rapidly, she flicked her powers into and out of his mind again.   _Ah ha!_  She turned back to the archer.

 _ <But I _ did _take a picture of you. > _

“What?!” yelled Barton.

Now Stark’s face was even more priceless.  Lira shrugged a shoulder.  _ <Eh, telling someone and taking a picture are two different things--> _

And a repulsor blast hit her square in the chest.   _Not again!_ she groaned as she hit the ground in a shower of sparks.

“Sorry, Clint, I did take a picture,” the real Tony Stark was saying.  “But I’ve only shown it to a very small number of people, very small.  Let’s see, Pepper, Steve, Natasha, hmm, who else?  Fury, Hill, Banner--I _had_ to show it to Banner--my driver, the guy who has the falafel cart down the street--”

Barton had opened his mouth to respond, but Lira didn’t let him--she had shaken off her Glamour and risen in the air to face Stark once more.  But she didn’t speak, and in typical Iron Man fashion, he quickly filled the silence.

“Ah, Underbite.  Where’s the boyfriend?”  He looked around.  “Aww, having trouble?”

Anger flared in Lira’s chest but still she didn’t speak.  Instead, she floated closer.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Barton raise his bow, but she held up her hand, freezing him with an invisible burst of magic.  She placed a finger at the corner of Stark’s mouth and felt a satisfying thrill when his eyes widened as her power began to lightly singe his lips.

_ <Tell me this, Tony.  Will Pepper still love you when you don’t have a mouth?> _

“If it worked out between you and Bambi, I think he has a good chance,” said Barton, and Lira whipped her head towards him, her eyes flashing.  She was about to turn up the heat on the finger pressed against Stark’s mouth, but the loud clopping of large hooves stopped her.  She eyed Stark with a smug, but still sinister look in her eyes.

_ <Mmm, lucky boy.  We’ll have to continue our conversation some other time.  Here, catch.> _

She tossed him the God-Jewel simulacrum and he caught it automatically.  

And without another word or glance behind her, Lira flew off.  She had to find “the boyfriend.”

****

 _There_ , Ares thought.   _The man in the iron suit._  And he was holding the God-Jewel.  Before the man could even react, Ares’s steed had galloped up towards him.  Ares pulled back the reigns and his horse reared into the air and kicked its front hooves aggressively.  Then a bolt of lightning shot out of the clear blue sky and hit the ground behind him because Ares liked to be flashy (though he would never admit it to anyone).

“I have been searching for you, Midgardian sorcerer.  Give me that, it belongs to me,” Ares thundered, pointing at the God-Jewel.  He was fully expecting the sorcerer to resist, so when the man simply shrugged, Ares stared.

“I don’t know what it is and I don’t really care,” the Midgardian said.  “You can have it.  But first, we need to talk.  I take it this is your army?”

“Indeed it is, sorcerer.  I am Ares, God of War.”

_“No way.”_

Both Ares and the sorcerer turned to look at the Migardian man with the bow in his hands.  Immediately, he dropped his gaze, his words coming out in a rush: “Er, I used to like Greek mythology when I was younger.”

Ares didn’t have time to wonder about what the archer was babbling about.  He turned back to the man in iron.  “Surrender the God-Jewel, or your realm will burn in the fires of--”  Ares shut up.  He blinked.

The man in iron had handed over the God-Jewel without a word.  Taken aback, Ares looked down at the jewel in his hand.  It felt strangely powdery and soft, and...  _wait a minute_ \--  Ares’ fingers were suddenly poking holes into a pile of dirt in his palm.  He was speechless for a moment as he watched the dirt fall from his hand and blow away with the breeze.  But another moment passed, and Ares found his voice.

 _“Sorcery!”_ he bellowed.  Drawing his sword, he reared back on his horse once more.  The Midgardians reacted immediately, both jumping smoothly into fighting stances with their weapons pointed at him.  There was a hustling of footsteps all around him, and then a circle of black-clad Midgardians surrounded the three of them as quickly as if they had popped up out of the ground.  Ares smirked to himself as he spotted the tiny mortal weapons in their hands.  How many Midgardians would taste his blade today?

“Ares, _stop!”_

Ares sighed and dropped his sword arm.  He didn’t turn around.  “This is not your concern, Athena,” he called over his shoulder.  “Go back to Olympus.”

“Ares, I have just been to Asgard,” she said, walking around to take his horse’s muzzle in her hands.  “The Allmother told me that Odin is not on Midgard.  He has banished himself to Muspelheim.  You will not be able to reach him.”

 _“What?”_ growled Ares.  Rage was building up within him, eating away at his confusion, his bloodlust, and all other thoughts.  All… except for one:  _“Loki.”_

****

 _The Russian._  Loki could see her fiery red hair spread out like halo around her head as she quickly moved down the street below him.  She had her hands around civilians and was ushering them as fast as they would go into a large Midgardian vehicle of some kind.  Occasionally, the cry or roar of an Olympian creature would cause her eyes to go wide, and she’d swiftly glance around, making sure that nothing was close enough to harm the Midgardians in her care.  Ever alert and ready for danger, his Russian.  So when she had finally seen the vehicle off and had turned to walk right into Loki himself, her shocked expression was so delightful, Loki let the feeling seep into his body and set fire to the magic in his chest.

He raised a hand and immediately she rose into the air in front of him until their faces were level.  “ _Ah._  We meet again, Agent Romanoff.  I’m afraid the last time we met, we parted on… _undesirable_ terms.  But I am here to make that right.”

“Loki…” was all she could say, and Loki smiled.  How he loved hearing his enemies struck so dumb with fear, they could only say his name.  He drew closer and ran a hand through her hair, thoroughly enjoying seeing the muscles in her neck twitch from his proximity.  

“I believe I had promised that I would give the honor of killing you to our dear friend Mr. Barton.  But as you know, some time has passed since I last made that promise to you, and I’m afraid things have changed.”  Fiercely, he grabbed the hair on the back of her head and yanked it back, exposing the long, white column of her neck, and she stifled a gasp.  “I want to do it _myself_ ,” he growled.  “Slowly, intimately, in all the ways you fear.”  His eyes roamed down lower, following the creamy whiteness of her skin.  Through the opening of her bodysuit, he could just barely see her decolletage.  Hmm, he thought.  She actually was quite lovely.  What a pity.

Growing ever more excited by the fear in her eyes, his fingers freed her hair, and he began to walk slowly around her.  “Do you know about pain spells?”  Here, Loki snickered.  “Of course you don’t.  There are many ways to cause someone pain without touching them.”   He turned and suddenly drew an index finger across her neck, and a soft, distressed sound escaped from her lips.  “But I’ve always liked using my _hands_.  To feel the hundreds of tiny points on your skin rise to meet my fingertips.  To hear the sound your heart makes when I drag my knife across your flesh.  How else would I really get to know you?”  He continued walking around her, his eyes roaming around her body's every inch.  “You humans treat your bodies like playthings, afterthoughts.  But in _my_ hands, you are an instrument.  And I want to create... a _sound_.”

He drew a dagger from its hidden place on his person and ran its point along the side of her face.  “I am _eager_ to see what your sound will be, Agent Romanoff,” he whispered darkly in her ear.

“I don’t care what you do to me,” she said through gritted teeth.  “But you won’t win.  We will beat you.  Just like last time.”

Loki laughed.  Oh, the _fire_ in her.  “Beat me?  With your ‘very specific skill set?’  Tell me, little human, what skills do you mortals have to best _me_ , a god?”  

He was right in front of her, his face inches from hers, so when she smiled, showing a wide set of white teeth, he almost stepped back in surprise.  “I have a mind,” was all she said--and Loki would wish he _had_ backed up.

_Bzzzzzzttt!!!_

“Arrrrgghhhh!!”

From the bracelet on her wrist, she had shocked him in a rather sensitive area, and he fell to his knees with a grunt of pain.  He heard a thundering of large footsteps, and before he could react, something tightened around his middle and he rose into the air.

And stared into the face of the green monster.

“And some good friends,” the Russian was saying as his spell collapsed around her and she stepped to the ground.  “I’m sure friendship isn’t something you know anything about.”

And he was flying headlong into the base of a building across the street.  There was blood in his mouth and a horrible pulsing pain in his head, but he immediately jumped to his feet.  The green monster was running straight for him.  Loki put a hand against the building to steady himself, but the pain in his head was making his eyesight blur and his thoughts frantic.  He swayed.  No, no… He couldn’t think to cast a spell!  But then a figure dropped out of the sky and landed right in front of him--and it wasn’t the Hulk.

_ <Hi.  I’ve brought you a friend.  Me.  Remember me?> _

Loki’s squinted, willing his eyesight to clear.  It was _Lira._  There were cuts on her arms and bloody spots on her dress, but she was there, still standing, still wearing her armor of indifference, still… with _him_.  The green monster roared and she looked behind her.

 _ <What _ is _that thing? > _

“A giant _pain_ in my _ass_!” Loki growled.

_ <Why is it green?> _

Feeling his increasing annoyance dull his pain, Loki just shook his head.  “It’s coming.  Get ready.”

_ <Aww, but it’s your favorite color.> _

“Now is not the time, Lira!” Loki snapped.  The green monster was almost upon them--

_ <Oh, lighten up will you--> _

She had casually raised a hand in front of her, and Loki felt her power stir.  Just as the monster swung a giant hand towards him, she blocked it-- _except_ the green giant was strong, and Loki dove to the side as it slammed her straight into the building.  As the Hulk turned its threatening, green-eyed gaze towards him, Loki said the first spell words that came into his mind, and five of his simulacra burst forth from him to run in opposite directions.  Frantically, the Hulk's head swiveled around, and as it tried grabbing at the copies, Loki ran into the building.

Lira was easy to find; he just followed the several large holes in the walls that the Hulk had smashed her through.  Relieved to see that she was getting to her feet (albeit shakily), Loki waved an arm out in front of him, urging her to run.  “Go, go!”

_ <All right, now I’m angry.  I’m going to kill that thing.> _

“You can’t.  If it could be killed, I would have already done so,” Loki huffed angrily as he ran, Lira at his side.  “It’s rage makes it more powerful.”

He thought he heard a frustrated growl in his head.

_ <Fine.  I have an idea.  And you’re not going to like it.> _

They had reached the doors on the other side of the building, and as they ran out and the sounds of the battle rose up to meet them, there was a bellow: The Hulk was coming their way, having jumped straight over the building.

“Let me guess,” Loki said, as the Hulk's shadow fell over them.  I'm the bait.”

_ <Yep!> _

And Lira took to the air.  Even though his instincts were screaming, Loki stayed still until the Hulk was almost on top of him, then he transformed into a sleek black cat and leaped between the monster’s feet.  Just as he had predicted, the Hulk floundered around after him, having a hard time spotting his tiny form among the rubble, but then an energy blast hit the ground close to Loki, singeing his whiskers.  Agent Romanoff had followed them through the building and was trying to blast him with the weapons on her wrists.  The Hulk was still stomping chaotically around him when he heard Lira’s call in his head: _ <Bring him up this way!> _  And without a second thought, two black wings sprouted on Loki’s back and he jumped into the air.  Now Agent Romanoff wasn’t a problem, but the Hulk…

The Hulk had leaped into the air after him.

It was as if time had slowed.  Loki flew towards Lira, her arms outstretched towards him, and he could almost feel the giant beast following closely behind him in the air.   _Go, go_ , he urged himself, using his magic to spur him forward.  The beast was quick--but Loki was quicker.  Right before Loki shot into Lira’s arms, she swirled them in circle and a portal appeared out of thin air.  Loki felt the tip of his tail pass through it before all four paws hit Lira’s chest.  He turned his head… just in time to see the Hulk jump right into the portal and disappear.  Lira swirled her arms again, and the portal vanished.

It took him several minutes to relax in Lira’s arms.  Finally, he thought to her: _ <Where did you send it?> _

_ <I don’t know.  Some asteroid.> _

And then she was holding him up to her face, her voice taking on a strange, baby-like quality that vexed him greatly.

_ <You are so cute as a cat.  Especially one with wings.> _

_ <Don’t you dare try to pet me.> _

_ <Aww.> _

Still holding him, she floated downwards and landed lightly in the middle of some large blocks of rubble.  Now that the adrenaline was leaving him, Loki felt his pains spring back up all over his body, and he found himself content to rest in her arms for a moment.  She sat on a long slab of concrete and leaned back.  Loki could tell that she was tired, too.  _So tired._  In all his daydreams of this day, he hadn’t envisioned being this exhausted.  His eyelids began to droop, and when his sharp ears naturally picked up a rustle in front of them, he didn’t react.

_ <How long were you in the chamber?> _

It took a moment for Loki to realize that Lira wasn’t talking to him.  He peered over her arm and couldn’t believe it--She was talking to… _the Patriot._  The man was standing a few feet away from them, and his shield was on his arm like it usually was, but he wasn’t in an aggressive stance.  There was something different about him…  Maybe it was the look in his eyes or the unusual slump of his shoulders--but anger still flared in Loki’s chest at the sight of him, and he hissed, his ears flattening against his head.  But Lira only patted his head distractedly, and Loki felt his body start to freeze.  He meowed his displeasure at her, but she didn’t look down.

“Long enough,” the Patriot was saying, his voice uncharacteristically soft.  Confused, Loki’s eyes flicked between them.  Did they know each other?

_ <I’m sorry.> _

Now Loki was even more bewildered, and he tried wiggling free.  It didn’t work.

“I’m not thinking straight,” said the man.  The confidence that was usually in his voice was gone.  “My thoughts, they’re… different.  I’ve never felt this way.  My head’s not in the battle.  I almost let a car full of civilians get crushed, I've been so distracted.  All I’ve been thinking of is...”

_ <Killing me.> _

The Patriot pressed his lips together but said nothing.  Now Loki noticed the hollow glint in the man’s eye, and it was so strange, yet so familiar, so… like _his_.

Now Lira’s thought-speak was suddenly quieter than it usually was, and Loki was startled to realize that she had grown sad.  _ <I told you.  Monster.> _

The Avenger was walking towards them, and if Loki could tense up any further, he would have, but the man just sat down silently next to Lira, his shield resting against his legs.  He was so close now, and Loki’s magic was struggling against Lira’s Freezing Spell so much, he almost missed her voice in his head.   _< Calm down.  He was the only one who objected.> _

And even though the words were vague, Loki understood.  He stopped struggling.

“I’m starting to question what I used to think about monsters,” the man was saying quietly, not looking at them.  “Whether they were made or created, simply given a raw deal.  I’m starting to think it’s the latter.”

There was an explosion off in the distance, but the Avenger just looked at it.  “I don’t know what to do, anymore… I…”  He looked down at Loki, and Loki wondered if the man could tell it was him.  “What do I do?”

_ <What you always do.  Fight.  Fight these feelings.  They are not you.> _

“You don’t seem to be fighting them.”

Lira shook her head.   _< I‘m not supposed to be fighting them.  _ _We all have our parts to play.  The more you struggle against it, the more pain it will cause. > _

Loki couldn’t take it anymore; he was thoroughly confused and tired of trying to keep his attention away from the mouse that was wandering among the rubble several yards away.  With a final heave, he shook Lira’s spell off of him and transformed back into a man.

And the Patriot didn’t react.  He simply looked up at him, his expression solemn.  Loki had been so ready for a fight, but now…

Without a word, Loki sat down on Lira’s other side.  He took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to release all his stress into the air, but only some of it would go.  On Lira’s other side, Loki could feel the Patriot trying to do the same.  There was silence as the three simply sat there, staring at nothing.  And then Lira’s voice was back in their heads, but this time, it was sarcastic.

_ <Boys.  Weeeaak.> _

And simultaneously, both men turned to look at her, their expressions the same: mightily, almost comically,  _miffed_.

****

Loki was floating in the air.  Lira was by his side.  They had left the Patriot sitting on the concrete slab--he had made no move to stop them, and for some confusing reason, Loki hadn’t felt like killing him.  The Patriot looked to be in some self-made prison, and, well, hadn’t Loki wanted him to live forever in pain?  The man was in pain now, and that was enough, Loki assured himself.  Yes.  That’s why Loki had stayed his hand.  Yes.

He was feeling…  What was he feeling?  Triumphant?  Eternally satisfied?  Thoroughly avenged?  

...Yes.  Yes, he was, _of course_ he was!  His wildest, coldest dream had been realized.  He stared at the destruction below, willing the beast to see it, too.

 _Now._  Now he could have his peace.  Now he could be whole again.  He stretched his arms out as he flew, savoring the wind in his face and hair.  His eyes closed so that his ears could focus solely on the sounds of the destruction below.   He smiled.

And an arrow flew out of the sky to bury itself in his eye.


	18. The Only Truth That Sticks

For the second time that day, Loki was falling but could barely notice it.  His hands were cupped around the stem of the arrow protruding from his right eye, and the pain was so sharp, he was barely conscious.  But then he heard his name screamed in his head, and the jolt of pain that sizzled through his head from Lira’s uncontrolled thought-speak roused him.  Vomit rose up in his throat as the pain from the arrow hit him anew, and he could feel the warm, sticky blood seeping between his fingers.  But soon he was slowing, and as he landed softly on the ground, Lira shot down out of the sky to grab him by the shoulders.  Wildly, he recoiled from her.  The pain and her panic were making him delirious, and he could barely recognize her frantic voice in his head.

_ <I-I don’t know how to heal this!  Loki!  What do I do?> _

Like a wild animal, he growled at her, but she didn’t back away so he bared his teeth. _Kill… rage… destroy… pain… destroy… kill… kill… kill her… kill her..._

But still she didn’t back away.  She had her hands stretched towards him and her thought-speak was suddenly softer.   _ <Shh, shh, Loki, Loki…> _

She kept saying his name in his head, over and over again.  And even though the pain still rippled through him, Loki’s mind slowly returned.

_ <Shh… shh…  What can I do?  Let me help you...> _

“P-pull it out-t-t,” he slurred at her.

She grasped the shaft of arrow and paused.  Then--

_ <I’m sorry!> _

And with a fluid yank, she pulled the arrow out.  Loki fell back as the pain intensified, but his instincts kicked in, and before he had taken another breath, his magic had swooped up to stop the bleeding and begin healing.  It was an absolute miracle he was alive.  But his eye… he couldn’t save his eye.

There were shouts and footsteps coming towards them, and Loki turned his head just in time to see Lira whip her arm back and send Clint Barton flying backwards in the air.  Her power had been so strong, the man flew over the top of the nearest building, and Loki saw the man in iron turn and leap into the air after him.  There were no other Avengers around them and hardly any humans or Olympians.  In fact, the sounds of the battle had grown oddly quiet, and Loki groaned as he tried to get to his feet.  But he was so weak from the pain, he _couldn’t_ stand, and he fell back onto the ground, his hand over his ruined eye.

“Loki, what is going on?”

Loki’s mouth fell open.  It was _Horus_.  The Ennead came closer, concern written all over his lovely face, and he gasped when he saw Loki’s eye.  He bent to gently cradle Loki’s face with his fingertips.  “What happened to your eye?”

Loki brushed him away.  “Horus, get out of here.”

But Horus ignored him.  “The Pantheons are all in a clamor.  They don’t know if this is a threat to all Pantheons or just some squabble between your people and the Olympians.  Even the Ennead army is wondering if they should respond, and if so, on whose behalf--”

Loki cut him off.  “Horus, _leave_.  Please.”

“But what is--”

“Just, _go,_ ” Loki said fiercely, his pain making him sound more savage than he was feeling.  But Horus wasn’t moving.  His kohl-rimmed eyes flicked upwards, as if he could see Asgard’s smoldering realm in the sky above.  Slowly, his eyes lowered.  Lowered… to look back at Loki.  He opened his mouth to speak and his voice was suddenly different.

“What a mess you’ve made,” he drawled.  “Two realms burning. Surely, you couldn’t have done this all on your own?  You must have had… _help_.”

Loki was confused.  He shook his head.  It was like he couldn’t see Horus clearly, the look on the god’s face was so strange.  Horus looked past him.  He held out his hand.  Loki turned his head.  Turned... to look at _Lira_.

She was staring at the Sky God, her eyes wide.  She looked frozen, standing behind Loki with the bloody arrow still in her hand.  But a long moment passed, and she opened her hand.  The arrow fell to the ground.  She took a step.  Then another.  Slowly, she walked past Loki, and he turned his head, watching her, his mouth open.  Now she was stretching her hand out towards Horus, and Loki was shaking his head as disbelief began blooming painfully in his chest.

She had reached the Ennead, but as soon as she made to take his outstretched hand, he dropped it to his side.  And _transformed_.

The claws on his feet and hands disappeared.  So, too, did the falcon mask.  He grew taller, and his face narrowed until it was all sharp points, and his eyes changed from a warm gold to a sinister, snapping green.  His staff lengthened and the pattern blurred and morphed--now the abstract feathers were gone, and in their stead, curling treacherously upwards around the staff, were snakes.  Finally, a fierce-looking helmet appeared on his head, and its design wasn't of a bird's.  It was a cobra, its large coils wrapped around and around the helmet, and in its mouth was a jackal.

The Horus Loki had known was gone.  And in his place was…

_Seth._

The Serpent God smiled, showing his still-pointed teeth.  He ran a casual hand through Lira’s hair and patted her head.

“She’s quite governable, isn’t she?”

Loki should have been surprised.  And he _was_ \--the feeling was there, stabbing like an ice pick in his chest...  But Loki had already sensed that the god wasn’t what he seemed after Loki had kissed him and felt something sinister churn beneath the man’s lips.  Afterwards, Loki had meant to ponder the suspicious feeling more deeply, but then, as the beast took over, his mind had emptied itself of everything that wasn't a part of his plan.  Besides, a small voice in his head had reassured him, how important could it be?

So Loki had known, to a certain extent.  Tricksters could always smell their own.  

He just wasn’t expecting _this_.

Lira had her eyes to the ground.  But now she looked at him, and those glowing orbs that he thought he knew were suddenly alien again and filled with something that could have been sadness, but Loki didn't care to find out.

_ <Loki…> _

_ <No, Lira.  _Don’t _. > _  The pain in his heart was spreading, infecting the rest of his body like a disease, and all he could do was laugh.  “I should have known,” he gasped out, his smile, his lips stretched wide like a scar.  “I should have known.”

“To your credit, she is very good,” Seth said, and Loki recognized that slithery, hissing voice he had heard in Lira’s--in _that_ _creature’s_ \--memory.  That day seemed so long ago, and now it didn’t mean a thing.

“And she had this.”  Seth opened his palm and the silver snake ring rose up to float above his hand.  “Remember this?”  Seth snorted.  “How could you think she could be controlled by such a meager thing?  It is nothing more than a charm that amplifies baser instincts… which you and the Enchantress certainly had a lot of _fun_ with, didn't you?”  His lips curled upwards.  “What you did to the Enchantress’ face.  Mmm, _brutal_.  What _she_ did to Asura’s face.”  Still, he smiled, looking on the verge of a laugh.  He patted the girl’s head once more.  “And she had such a lovely little face.  What a _pity_.”

Loki didn't react.  The unbreakable steel bars of his personal hell had risen up all around him, and he was once again locked in a cage of painful, burning numbness.  But as Seth’s words sunk in, a small, persistent thought floated its way to the surface of his mind.   _Amora…_

But that thought was immediately pushed away by another.

_ <Loki, I…> _

“Get out of my head!” Loki snarled.  He glared at her, that creature, that monster, that… _betrayer_.  He should have known.

Stifling a groan of pain, Loki sat up.  “Well,” he snapped to the Serpent God, “get on with it.  Gloat.  Make your _big speech_ , so that I may _finally_ be relieved of the sound of your voice!”

Seth tutted.  “Loki, Loki, even _you_ know that these things can’t be rushed.  Remember?”  He stretched out his arms, pointing to the smoldering remains of their surroundings.  “Even you wanted a stage.  And I gave it to you.  You should be happy.”

“I’ll be happy when your head is ripped from your body,” Loki growled.

Seth shook his head and tutted again.  “Tsk.  Tsk.  The esteemed Silvertongue, reduced to making petty threats.  How sad.”  He lowered hooded eyes at him.  “And what a great tongue it was.”

Loki couldn’t help himself, his cheeks reddened.  Desperate to stop his body from recoiling in on itself in shame, he spat out the first thing that came to his mind.  “And you’ve done all of this, gone through so much effort, just to appease your... _master_?”

At the mention of the word “master,” Seth’s confidence seemed to slip for the first time.  He paused, pressing his lips together angrily and then forced a sneer.  “ _Don’t_ try to act like you’re superior.  We _all_ have masters.  I just happen to be really good at pleasing mine.”

“And does the great Elder Himself know that you impersonate him?   _You_ , a lowly god of Earth?  Whose only power is to make the small, _pathetic_ life forms of this planet tremble on their little knees?”

At this, a look of silent rage came over the man’s face, and Loki smiled, a genuine, mocking leer.  He had found his “silver tongue.”  “Tell me this, _Seth_.  At night, after a _successful_ day of terrifying livestock and when you’re tucked cozily into your bed, do you think of yourself as... an _Elder_?”

And Loki was flying backwards over the pavement.  Several feet away, he landed in a painful heap.  Seth had shot an energy blast at him from his staff.

“I believe our conversation is over,” Seth hissed through gritted teeth as he closed the distance between them.  When Loki tried to rise, Seth pressed the head of his staff into Loki’s cheek, forcing him back to the ground.  “As much as I would enjoy killing you myself, I feel it is more _poetic_ to let the honor fall to your beloved… ‘ _Lira.’”_

The girl had remained still and expressionless throughout their whole exchange, but now she was shaking her head, her eyes growing wide with disbelief.

_ <No…> _

With a flick of his staff, Seth stepped back, and Loki propped himself up on his elbows.  His eyes were wild, his breathing heavy.  He couldn’t think; he could only react, like an animal.  Now the monstrous snarl in Loki’s thought-speak could rival the god-killer’s: _ <What did you think would happen, you stupid girl?  Did you think your master would just let me walk away unscathed?  From the beginning I was right about you.  You’re just a mindless beast with only one purpose.  So _ do it. _> _

The girl was still shaking her head and looking up at Seth.   _< No… No.  I won’t… I won’t do it.  I refuse.> _

Seth’s eyes narrowed.  “You refuse?” he said to her, his voice emotionless.  Weakly, the girl nodded.  Seth seemed to think about this for a moment, and then he nodded back to her as if he agreed.  And in the quickest of motions, he reared back and hit the middle of her face with his staff.  A sickening squish was heard when the staff connected, and she fell to the ground.  “You refuse?” he calmly questioned again, this time hitting her hard in the midsection.  She curled her arms around herself but did not move.  There was silence.  Then, weakly…

_ <I won’t.> _

Seth was looking bored.  “Mmm,” was all he said.  He stretched out a hand, and instantly, the God-Jewel popped out of the air and he caught it.  Loki stared.  Seth was smiling at the girl, the look in his eyes almost tender.  Then his fingers dug into the God-Jewel, and Lira’s body jerked.  Seth squeezed the God-Jewel further, and Lira’s body began writhing as if it was being torn apart by seizures.  After noticing Loki’s surprised expression, Seth stopped and raised the God-Jewel in the air as if he was honoring Loki with a toast.

“Oh, this?  You’re familiar with this, aren’t you?  By now, you’ve probably surmised that it is _not_ the heart of my father.”  A wicked smile stretched across Seth’s face.  “No, I have _other_ plans for that.  But the only way to make such a powerful artifact is to use the heart of a god.  So if not my father’s, then _whose_?”

He moved his hand until he was holding the God-Jewel over the girl’s prone form.  At Loki’s shocked look of realization, Seth’s smile widened even more.  “What better way to control an Elder’s daughter, than by taking her heart?”

Loki closed his mouth.  He didn’t care… he didn’t care…  He felt nothing.

“Now I believe that is all the revelations I have to tell you,” Seth said mockingly, his voice annoyingly sing-song.  “It is time.”

The god-killer had gotten on her hands and knees, but she didn’t look up.  The tremors that rattled her small frame were so strong, Loki felt something twinge in his heart, but he fought it down.

“It is time,” Seth said again, looking down at her.  “ _Kill him._ ”

_ <No… please, no…> _

“Aww, is this love, my little Asura?”  Seth seemed to sigh knowingly.  Then his fingers began boring into the God-Jewel again, and the girl fell back onto the ground, twitching and jerking as if she was being electrocuted.  Now her voice in their heads was hysterical.

_ <Please, I will do anything!> _

“You will die,” her master said simply.

Loki didn’t know how long he watched this horrifying spectacle.  The pain in his chest--it was worse than anything he had ever felt before.  The numbness was so strong, so piercing, his mind could barely think.  But his mind… it always was the biggest betrayer of them all.

Remembering.  Always remembering.  Against his will.

Memories flashed in front of his eyes, every face, every moment leading up to this day.  And for the first time in his life, he knew with utmost certainty--

He wanted to die.

For the last time, he opened his mind.

_ <Do it.  Save yourself.  Do it.> _

_ <Loki…> _

But he didn't respond.

He was ready.

Seth had loosened his fingers around the God-Jewel, and the girl’s form was still once more.  Slowly, she got to her knees.  Slowly, she stood.  She faced him.

He didn't want to look at her, but his eyes flicked up immediately and stared into hers.  And finally, he recognized them.  They were _black_.  A familiar, terrible blackness, and in his mind all the lights were dimming and he was falling through darkness again.  He saw faces as he fell.  Odin looking down at him, the disappointment in his eyes the only light.

_“No, Loki.”_

Always no.

He saw Thor standing in the palace.  The ground below his brother’s feet was the ceiling above Loki's cell, and Thor was walking, his steps taking him further and further away from Loki's prison.

_You didn’t come._

He saw himself, the monster.  Then his reflection was turning into Lira’s, yet still he only saw himself.  Alone.

_I thought I knew you._

And he was falling, drowning in that dark abyss of space, and there were no more faces to see him and no more hands to grab him.  There was just… _nothing_.

As the god-killer approached him, Loki raised his chin.  He was ready.

She reached out a hand, light sparkling on her fingertips, and then she placed the lightest of touches right where his heart would be.  Immediately, a new feeling burst through him, its strength eating through everything else.

It was a burning.  He inhaled and smoke filled his nostrils.  Tiny bits of ash were floating upwards in front of his face, catching in his eyelashes.  He looked down at his hands.

They were _crumbling_.  Dully, he watched as small pieces of his hands fell away, joining ash and tiny sparks of flame as they circled upwards in the air.  Now the blinding physical pain was back, searing across his body, and Loki understood.

He was dying.  The god-killer had set fire to his heart, and he was burning from the inside out.  He closed his eyes.

A moment passed, one or one thousand, he didn’t know, but suddenly his eyes were snapping open and his body was flailing.

No, wait… He had been wrong, he didn’t want this!  But the pain didn’t stop.  He looked up.  She was so close and the look in her eyes was so sad, he felt like he was back in the dark torture chamber, being killed in a hundred different ways.

_ <I’m sorry.> _

That voice.  That whispery, demonic voice.  He… _knew_ it.  That mask around her face, the blood on her dress-- _her_ blood--spilled for him, those eyes.  He knew them all.  He grabbed her arm.  He pulled her close.

“Y-you kneel t-to n-no one,” he whispered to her as his voice began to fail.  “ _N-no one._ ”

And the little strength he had left him, and he closed his eyes for the last time, surrendering himself to the darkness.

****

_Don’t think.  Don’t feel._

As the last of Loki’s body crumbled into ash, Lira’s legs gave out, and she fell to the ground.

_Don’t think.  Don’t feel._

Her shoulders were rising and falling with great shuddering breaths, but still her chest was tight, her ribs like a vice, crushing her lungs together.  She heard footsteps behind her and then her master was patting her on the head.  “Good girl,” he was saying.  He sounded so pleased.  “Good girl.”  Oh, how she used to long for that, his comforting hand upon her head and the praise upon his lips.

“Now, bring Earth’s Mightiest Heroes to _me_.”

_Don’t think.  Don’t feel._

And immediately, Lira raised her arms.

****

Steve Rogers was standing in the middle of ruin.  All around him was commotion, but he could barely see it.  When someone placed a small, trembling boy in his arms, he carried him to a makeshift medical area without a word.  When someone shook his hand and thanked him profusely, he didn’t hear it.  He didn’t _want_ to hear it.  When camera crews descended on him, their voices high and probing, he simply kept walking past them.  Standing off to the side were Natasha, Clint, Tony, and Agent Fury, and they were deep in conversation with three strangely dressed individuals who could have been gods, but if Steve was being honest, he didn’t really care.

Clint was talking.  “What about Banner?”

“We still don’t know where he is,” Fury replied, and unconsciously, Steve’s teeth clenched together.

“Do we know the number of casualties yet?” he heard Natasha ask, but Steve turned away.  He didn’t want to know.

And then he whipped his head back when he heard a startled cry.  Natasha was gone.  All three men were gaping down at the spot she had been standing in moments before.  Frowning, Steve looked around, and then out of the corner of his eye, he saw a strange flurry of movement.  He turned to look back, but it was too late.  Now Tony was gone, and as Steve watched, Clint’s body seemed to flicker.  There was a soft pop of air, and then Clint vanished without a word.  Feeling his heart shake itself awake as shock bloomed within it, Steve took a step.  He saw Fury turn to look at him, consternation shining like a star in his eye.  But before he or Steve could react, the air seemed to rush like a whirlwind around Steve’s body, and then Fury--and everything--was gone.

****

They were materializing all around her, the humans her master had requested.  Locating them had been easy, which Lira was grateful for--she didn't want to think.  She knew exactly what her master was expecting, and as the feet of all four Avengers hit the ground, Lira raised her hand and sent a blast of power towards them, dropping them to their knees.  No matter what they did, they would not rise.  She sent another blast of power their way, and when it returned to her, it had collected all of their weapons and armor.  Now they were entirely defenseless.  As her master began walking towards them, they stared up at him and the stunned looks on their faces were all the same.

“Hmm.  So these are the _only_ heroes this Earth planet could conjure?”  Mockingly, her master shook his head and clicked his tongue.  “I miss the old days.  Humans were so bloodthirsty back then, and their heroes were better for it.”

“Who are you?” asked the woman.  She didn’t look afraid.

“Always the same inane questions,” Lira’s master sighed.  He flicked his staff, and a green-colored light flew out of it to smack the woman on the mouth, and she fell back against her heels with a grunt.  Lira could see Clint Barton bare his teeth and try to break free from her Freezing Spell, but, of course, he couldn’t.

Her master had started speaking again, his voice rising dramatically with each new word.  “I am known by many names in many lands.  I am the ravager of both man and god, the final fear of all who live!  I am the destroyer of worlds!  I am Seth, the Serpent God of _Death_!”

Lira had heard that introduction so many times, she could have said it herself.

“Wow, someone left the door open at the Reptile House.  What are you, out peddling bibles for Godzilla?”

Lira didn't know who Iron Man was referring to, but she still would have laughed if she didn't know what was coming next.

An angry blast of light shot from her master’s staff to hit Tony in the chest, and he doubled over with a gasp of pain.

“So _you're_ the one Asura told me about,” Seth said.  “I’m thinking we'll leave you for last.  See what clever quips you come up with after you watch each of your friends be destroyed.”

Tony raised his head up, but he didn't look fazed in the slightest.  “Whew!” he breathed.  “That ssstung a bit.”

“Hey Tony, Tony,” Clint called.  “What do you call a snake without any clothes on?”

“Don't say it,” the woman said dryly.

But Clint didn't listen.  “Sssnaked!” he yelled, and the humans erupted into groans and barks of laughter.  Lira stared.  Even Steve now had the hint of a smile on his face.

“I got one,” said the woman.

Eagerly, Clint clapped his hands.  “Let’s hear it.”

“Why did the snake’s wife file for divorce?” she said, a small smile playing around her lips.

“Why?” Clint and Tony asked simultaneously.

“Because her husband had _ereptile disfunction.”_

There were hoots and guffaws from the boys.  Lira’s eyebrows were in her hairline, and when she risked a glance at her master, she could see a large vein start to pulse angrily in his neck.

“Guys, c’mon,” Steve said with a shrug.  “Leave Britney alone.”  There was a pause.  And then the air exploded with laughter, punctuated by whoops and hollers and cries of “Yeah Cap!” “I am so proud,” and Clint’s hilariously off key singing: “Steeve, I’m a slaaave for you!”

“That,” Tony was saying as he pointed at Steve, “is _my_ doing--”

“Enough!” roared Seth, and bolts of lightning shot out of his staff to sizzle across the bodies of each human.  “Your world will belong to my master, and it will be reborn again in his image.  And then the ascendancy of mammals will be at an _end_.”

There was silence for a moment, but then a familiar, quippy voice piped up once again: “Am I dreaming or did he just say ‘ascendancy of mammals?’”

Steve was shaking his head in disbelief, and Lira thought she heard him mutter “What the hell,” under his breath.  So far, none of the humans had looked even remotely afraid.

“You know, I think I’ve seen you in one of my comics as a kid,” Clint said wryly as he pointed his finger at Seth.  “Are you friends with Conan the Barbarian?”

Before Seth could even open his mouth, Tony had opened his.  “Wow, it is a _good day_ for tiny human Hawkeye--er, Hawklet?  First you lose your marbles over Ares, and now you’ve got Captain Caveman here--”

“Hey!” Clint said indignantly.  “I wasn't the only one! I saw you checking out Athena.”

“--thought you were going to jump on the back of Ares’ horse and ride off with him to Mount Olympic--”

“It's _Olympus_ , you idiot--”

“You meant to say ‘billionaire.’”

Clint was about to respond when another crackling bolt of power shot out of Seth’s staff, but instead of splitting into four directions like last time, it shot straight to Tony.  Lira could tell by the way Tony’s body shook that Seth had really turned up the power this time.  When the lightning stopped, Tony’s head lolled over on his chest, and the faces of his companions were no longer smiling--but Seth’s was.  His satisfied grin was stretched ear to ear, and Lira was feeling oddly nervous as she wondered how long he was going to drag this out.  As she looked at Tony’s unconscious form, a feeling of confusion rose within her chest to mix with the tightness that was already there.  How many times had she had her enemies on their knees before her, just like this?  How many times had she obeyed her master’s command without hesitation, administering pain without even a touch?  What her master was doing wasn't any different.  And besides, she reassured herself, she didn't care what happened to Iron Man, or to the rest of them.  She didn't care.  Just like she didn’t care about what had happened to Loki...

_Don’t think.  Don’t feel._

The rest of the Avengers were struggling against her Freezing Spell, but it only felt like tiny taps against her head.  These poor humans.  They didn’t have a chance.  And then to everyone’s astonishment, a jaunty, untroubled voice piped up-- _yet again._

“I thought you were going to do me last.”

Tony had raised his head.  There were smoke tendrils still rising from his body and his clothes were torn where the electricity had hit him, but he was looking as refreshed as if he had just woken up from the most restful of sleeps.  “Feel free to do my friends first.  Less work to do on my payroll.”

“We get paid?” the woman asked dryly, and Lira snorted.  Maybe humans were stronger than they appeared.  But as she heard Seth shift beside her, she tensed.  Would he finally deliver the killing blow this time? Her master’s moods had always been unpredictable, and to her great surprise (and relief?), he only grinned.

“Oh no,no, that was just the beginning,” Seth replied cheerfully, his pointed teeth glinting in the sunlight.  “You _will_ live to see your friends die, and now, because of your insolence, their deaths will be--”

A ferocious clap of thunder sounded above them, and suddenly Seth’s body was flying backwards through the air.  A bolt of lightning had shot out of the sky and rammed itself straight into Seth’s chest.  When her master crashed into a large pile of concrete slabs some twenty yards away, Lira immediately looked up and stared.

It was _Thor_.  He was floating several feet above their heads, his hair and cape whipping through the wind.  Moments before, the sky had been clear, but now it rumbled and twisted behind him, looking like the world was only moments away before plunging into a stormy chaos.  As he lowered himself to the ground, Lira thought he looked nothing like the troubled man she had spied earlier in Avengers Tower.  Now, he looked like a warrior king.  His large, bare arms had burn marks stretching up and down their lengths.  There were ropes of thick-looking spiderweb stuck to his hair and armor, but they he didn’t seem to faze him.  Mjolnir was covered in dried bits of color, as if the weapon had tasted the blood of a thousand different creatures that day.  When he landed and looked all around him, his face had a fierceness to it that shook Lira’s knees.

“You’re late,” said the flame-haired woman.   _“Hung up?”_

“Had a bit of a spider problem,” rumbled Thor.

“I didn’t know you liked puns so much, Natasha,” Steve was saying with a disapproving headshake (though he sounded amused).

“Were they _giant_ spiders?” Clint asked, his eyes exaggeratedly wide and hopeful, like a child’s.

But Thor wasn’t in a joking mood.  He pointed Mjolnir at Lira and she froze.

“ _You._  Where is my brother?”

For the first time, all eyes were on her, and as she looked back at each one, her confused feelings began to morph into a fierce uneasiness.  What could she say?

But it turned out she was worried for nothing.  She didn’t have to reply.  Her master did it for her.

A sphere of light landed in the middle of them, but before anyone could react, sizzling bolts of energy were shooting out of it and viciously wrapping themselves around each person--including her.  Agony hurtled through her, and she collapsed to the ground.  Her master’s attack hadn’t spared her, but she wasn't surprised.  She dug her fingers into the asphalt, trying to will her mind away from the pain.  Now even the God of Thunder was on his knees, Mjolnir knocked free from his hand.  After what felt like eternity, the magical onslaught stopped, and as she laid there on her side, she saw a pair of feet walk into her vision.  

“You have gotten rusty, Asura.  Apparently you have missed a hero.”  Staring down at her, Seth clicked his tongue.  “I’m starting to believe we need to go over your training.”

The attack had rattled her, and at first she couldn’t understand what her master was saying.

“Only this time, _I_ will do the choosing.”

Shakily, Lira got to her feet.  Once again, the faces of all the Avengers were the same, but they weren’t afraid.  They were solemn, almost melancholy.  It was if they already knew they were defeated.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Seth drawled as he looked around, his finger tapping his lips.  “Start with… the _woman_.”

****

Gaea was looking at her brother.  She couldn’t remember a time when they had been at peace.  Why, why was Set the way he was?  And why was she his opposite?  If the roles were reversed, would she find it as easy to destroy as he did?  She could see into the heart of every Earthling, revisit the planet’s past with a flick of her fingers and sneak peaks into its future, and yet she still didn’t know the answer to these questions.  For so long she had watched over Earth, marveling at the tenacity of her beloved humans--and their cruelty.  And though she had wanted to intervene many times before, she never did, not once, despite all that had unfolded before her.  It was against the rules, and Gaea was so very much a rule follower.  But as the time she spent with her brother increased and as she grew ever more unnerved by him, the more she began to wonder about these rules.  Surely, if she was quiet, no one would notice.  And she had learned how to be secretive from the best.

Gaea was looking at her brother.  And then... she wasn’t.  Her spirit was leaving her, floating backwards out of her physical form so imperceptibly, Set was sure to remain oblivious.  She was floating upwards and out of Set’s prison with ease, and soon she was walking through the cosmos, her every step creating flowers and plants and trees until the universe around her was full of Earth’s beauty.  She always felt more at home within the wild, green living world of Earth than the cold empty vastness of space, and if that made her peculiar for an Elder God, well, she didn’t care.

There was something else that made her peculiar for an Elder God, but this she did not advertise.  This was something known only to her.  As her consciousness floated through the smallest of openings and into another dimension, Gaea couldn't help but shiver.  The power that this secret thing had was almost overwhelming, even for an Elder like herself.

She had stepped into the mouth of a massive cavern.  Nearly one hundred feet in height, the cavern was so dark, it was almost impossible to see the speleothems that decorated the floor, walls, and ceiling.  Still, Gaea stepped through the darkness without hesitation, her feet having walked a path through the cavern many times before.  She was approaching the only source of light: a small chest sitting against the back wall.  Its wooden lid was closed, but that still didn’t keep a bright yellow light from seeping out of every small crack.  Gaea placed her hands on either side of the lid then paused, steeling herself.  Then in one fluid motion, she opened the lid.  And the cavern, and her eyes, were bathed in light.  

Any other person might have expected the chest to be packed to the brim with gold or other Earthen treasures, but Gaea had no need for such things.  In fact, the chest was so empty, Gaea had to stand on her tiptoes to see into  it.  Down at the bottom, resting on a plain piece of fabric, was a small yellow jewel.  Hesitantly, Gaea scooped it up in her fingers.  It was no larger than a human eye, and as she held it up and peered at it like a jeweler would, the power radiating from it made her tingle.  Just a moment.  She would need it for just a moment.  Then back in the box it would go, as if it never existed in the first place.   And the rule makers?  They would be none the wiser, for she was cleverer than them all.

She would rid the world of this evil, and there would never be another snake head in her presence again.

As Gaea stared down at her secret thing, and as its power stared back at her, she wondered, for the first time, if she was more like her brother than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seth's introduction is from his speech in the Thunderstrike comic, Vol 1 #17, February 1995.
> 
> Also, I've been debating on whether I should add Thor's spider fight to the previous chapter.


	19. Shout Through The Dark

Loki didn’t exist.  His body had crumbled into dust.  He had died, just like he had asked for.

And yet…

He sat up very quickly.  He was…

He was sitting on cold, black sand.  All around him were black rocks and large dead hills, and for a wild moment, he thought he had been banished into the God-Jewel again.  But no--wasteland though this was, he could tell it wasn’t _that_ one, and he sighed in relief… and a cloud of smoke and ash expelled from his mouth.  As he collapsed into a coughing fit, his mind caught up with his body.

He was… _alive_.

He looked down at his hands.  They were _whole_.  But he had watched them crumble.  He touched his face, his armor, his hair--it was all there.  But Lira had…

 _Lira_.

She hadn’t killed him.  She had just transported him away.

To everyone--to Seth, to the Avengers, to Thor--he had died. _But he hadn’t_.  Lira had given him a new life.  Now he could go anywhere, do anything, and no one would know.  He could be who he wanted to be, and there was no one to tell him otherwise.  No more Odins to stand over him and tell him no, no more false brothers to best him in every way, no more humans left to torture him, no more Friggas left to disappoint.  He had sacrificed so much, endured so much pain and heartbreak, just so he could hold the destiny he had created for himself in his hands.  And he had _failed_.   _Again_.  Over and over, he had failed.  But now he knew.  There was only one way to stop this miserable cycle.  To _forget._  Walk away.  To form a new identity, leaving the past, and his pain, in that pile of ash scattered over Midgardian pavement.

Lira had given him his chance.  The promise of a new future was here, now, floating just past his fingertips.  All he had to do was grab it.

He should have felt elated.  Once again, Loki the survivor, the trickster, had disappeared right out from under everyone’s noses.  They would never know that he still lived.

And that was when Loki realized: He had to go back.

****

“Start with the woman,” her master had said, and Lira acted immediately.  She raised her arm, and the woman rose into the air with her movement.  Lira tightened her fingers, and the woman started to choke as if an invisible hand was squeezing her neck.  Her male companions were struggling against Lira’s Freezing Spell again, but Lira barely noticed.  Her mind was blank.  She was acting solely on instinct.  Just like her master had taught her.

_“You--”_

_Don’t think.  Don’t feel._

“What's your name?”

 _Don’t think._  Thinking was for higher forms, and she was just a beast.

“You--girl--”

 _Don’t feel._  Feeling made it seem like she had a heart when she knew she didn’t.

A grunt of pain.  A voice.  “What's your name?” Steve Rogers repeated through gritted teeth.  He was trying so hard to break his bonds, but he wasn’t frightened or angry.  He was looking at her like he had back in Avengers Tower, when he had told her with so much conviction that she wasn’t a monster.  She looked away.

_Don’t think.  Don’t feel.  Not allowed.  Not..._

_Destiny._  Loki had talked so much about destiny.  Maybe now he would finally capture his.  

And as for hers?  

All she needed to do was squeeze.

****

It didn’t take Loki any time at all to realize that Lira had transported him to Svartalfheim.  Unfortunately, it _also_ didn’t take long for his injuries to catch up, and as he ran across the black sand, hoping he was going the right way, he tried to ignore the burning stitch in his chest that he knew wasn’t from the running.  Lira _had_ set his insides aflame, at least at first.  Loki knew that the destructive fire within her could never be put out--the proof was right there on her face.  Did he not have much time left to live?  He had no idea.  Was he going to spend his last moments alive trying to make his way back to the people and the city who hated him?

Yes.  Yes he was.

The ground had started to rise, and Loki’s feet dug into it, leaving a trail of footprints behind him.  But he didn’t care about what was behind him.  _Go forward_ , he kept urging himself.  That was where his destiny lay.

When he reached the giant opening of a cave, he didn’t hesitate.  He kept running, through the darkness that suffocated him, over jagged rocks that jutted out of the ground as if they were traps meant to trip him, through the burning pain that radiated from his chest.  He was almost there; he could feel it.  He stretched his arms out in front of him, palms pointed up towards the ceiling.

And right before his hands hit the back wall, he vanished...

...and reappeared on _pavement_.  He was back on Midgard.  He looked upwards and around him, as if the sky was a map that could help him get his bearings.  He was so frazzled, he couldn’t tell where in Midgard he was, but there was a woman up ahead, and he ran towards her.

“What is this place?” he demanded.

She stared at him in the same way Midgardians always seemed to do (with a face full of shock), but still she answered.  “Um… London.”

“Which way to New York City?”

“Um... that way,” she said, pointing over her shoulder.  “Over the ocean.  It’s about a six hour flight.  Er, are you looking for the airport?”

Loki didn’t answer.  Swiftly, he called his magic to him, and then he was gone before the woman could shut her mouth.

****

Lira was deep in thought.  How would she do it?  Use a knife to remove the first layer of skin like she was preparing a wild boar for the spit?  Light the woman’s beautiful red hair aflame so that she burned from the top down like a candle?  Force her to torture her friends and then brand the images on the backs of her eyelids?  What would please her master most?  Drowning, decapitation with a rusty dagger?  Being torn apart by a horde of ravenous beasts?  Should Lira break the mind first, and _then_ the body?  So many options.  Oh, how easy it was for her to reach into the darkest corners of her mind and summon up the most depraved of tortures.  She missed her mouth.  She wanted to scream, to throw her head back and laugh hysterically.  The tension within her chest was so tight, she felt like she could explode.

“Asura.  It is time.   _Kill her._ ”

Lira looked at the woman.  She was still painfully gasping for breath, but her gaze was pointed right back at Lira.  Even on the verge of death, the woman wasn’t afraid.  Lira flicked her power into and out of the woman’s head.  If Lira was to kill her, she might as well know her name.   _Natasha_.  What a nice name.  Lira wanted to know more about her--How was her childhood?  Did she love anyone?--but there wasn’t any time.  She tightened her fingers, and Natasha started to claw at the invisible power around her neck.  “No!” yelled Barton, but Lira didn’t stop.  She felt Thor try harder to wrench free from her hold, and for a moment, she was distracted; he was just so strong.

But her master was stronger.  He sent a blast of power Thor’s way, and then the Thunderer was being electrocuted by a crackling cage of light.  Seth had used his own lightning against him.  And he wasn’t done.  With a wild laugh, he smoothly moved his staff in a half-circle, and the lightning leaped from one Avenger to the other.  They were writhing, the pain etched deeply in their faces, and Lira wanted to look away but couldn’t.

 _“Seth!”_ rang a new voice.

And just like that, the smile on Seth’s face was gone.  A figure had descended out of the sky to land before them, and he was the strangest man Lira had ever seen.  The skin she could see on his face was a pale green, but the rest of his body was completely covered in the trappings of mummification.  He wore the _Atep_ crown on his head, and its height made it seem like he towered above them.  His arms were crossed over his chest like a corpse laid to rest, and both hands were clutching something: a crook in his left hand and a flail in his right.

Lira didn’t know who he was, and she could tell by the faces of the humans that they didn’t either.  But Seth did.  His eyes were so wide, the irises were rimmed with circles of white.

“Father?” he whispered.

Now Lira’s eyes were wide.  No... it _couldn’t_ be.

It was _Osiris_.

Seth was wildly shaking his head in disbelief.  “ _No_.  You're dead.  I killed you.   _I cut out your heart!”_ he screamed.

Osiris didn’t react; his face was so expressionless, it was like he was wearing a death mask.  “You did,” he replied simply.  “And the great Atum Himself restored me to life.”  

This stunned Seth, and as he stood motionless, the God King swept his eyes over everything before him.  His voice softened, but there was still no emotion in it.  “Why are you doing this, Seth?”

Osiris’ words seemed to shake Seth awake.  “Because the Time of Man is _over_!” he snarled.  “This world will be remade in my master’s image, and when I free him from his prison, the rivers and oceans will run red with the blood of his enemies!”

“And what do you get in return?  A throne?”  Osiris shook his head.  “When your master is done with this world there will be no one left to worship you.”

This caused Seth to freeze again, but he quickly recovered.  “No matter,” he sneered.  “There are many worlds like these, and my master knows them all.”

Osiris seemed to sigh.  He indicated the design on his helmet.  “Already you have forgotten our ways.  You are an Ennead, Seth, not your namesake.”

“And who gave me that name?” Seth shouted, his eyes wild.  “Tell me!   _Who_ , Father, _who_?”

For a long time, Osiris didn’t respond.  But when he did, emotion seemed to gather around the edges of his voice for the first time.  “ _I_ did.”

“Yes you did, _Father_ ,” Seth growled.  “And every time my name fell from your tongue, every time you saw Horus but didn’t see me, I heard it: ‘You are not worthy, Seth.’  Not worthy to be a king, not even worthy enough to be given a chance... to be considered _good_.”

The look in Osiris’ eyes was softening, but still it remained solemn.  “No, Seth,” he said quietly.

_No, Seth._

And Lira finally understood: Sins of omission, on both sides.  This was the nucleus.  But whose sins were more at fault here, those of the father or those of the son?  Would anyone ever truly know?

“I have always seen you, Seth, but you have not always seen me,” Osiris continued.  “But that, too, is my fault.”  He swept his arm out, indicating everything all around them.  “As is all of this.  I should have done better.”

The expression on her master’s face was like nothing she had ever seen on him before, a twisted mix of warring emotions: anger, despair, awareness, disbelief, betrayal, and… regret?

A light flashed around Osiris’ hands and when it dimmed, the crook and flail he had been holding were gone.  Now he stretched his arms towards Seth, his hands open.  For a moment, Seth looked frozen, staring at Osiris like he had never seen him before.  But then he loosened his fingers around his staff and its head hit the ground with a clang.  He was just about to let go of it completely when Osiris did something that no one was expecting.

He _coughed_.

All eyes seemed to stare curiously at the cloud of ash and smoke that expelled from his mouth--but it was Seth who acted first.  The vulnerable expression that had been on his face moments ago morphed into a suspicious frown.  He and Osiris locked eyes.  And then both called upon their magic.

Osiris was quick.  But Seth was quicker.  And he had _Lira_.

As her master whipped his staff up, he yelled for her to help him.  Even though she didn’t want to, her instincts did, and she acted immediately.  Invisible threads of power shot from her hands to converge upon Osiris.  Seconds before, the God King had fired a volley of green-tinged power at Seth, but it was stopped by an answering blast from her master’s staff.  Osiris’ magic fought the blast back, but the combined attack from Seth and Lira eventually overcame him, and he fell to his knees.  And _transformed_.

It was _Loki_.

Loki, looking as alive as he had been when they were last in Manhattan, playing innocent tricks on humans and holding her as they danced.  Behind him, Thor called his name, his voice high and urgent, but Loki didn’t turn.  Little bits of ash were floating upwards from his body and his right eye was gone, but that didn’t seem to worry him.  He looked at Seth and the wicked smile on his face was like a searing blast of its own.

“I’m afraid there _won’t_ be a happy reunion between father and son today,” he said with dark cheer.  His tongue seemed to savor each word before releasing it.  “What. A. _Pity_.”

Surprisingly, Seth stayed quiet; he only looked at Loki for a moment.  Slowly, chillingly, his head swiveled to look at Lira instead.  Now she was the one being burned by his gaze.  He twitched his hand, and the God-Jewel popped out of the air again.  But he didn’t catch it, and it fell to the ground by his feet, hitting the pavement with a small tinkling sound.

Immediately, Lira fell backwards.  She clutched at her chest, the pain excruciating.  The fall had knocked off a small, jagged piece of the God-Jewel--of her heart.

And _still_ she tried not to disobey her master.  She kept her hold on the Avengers, but despite how she tried, she couldn’t keep a hold on--

Loki’s magic shot at Seth, and the Serpent God was blasted back.  But in his rage, he was twice as powerful, and before too long, Seth had Loki back on the ground being restrained by an invisible force.  The pain in Lira’s chest finally lessened, and instinctively she threw her magic back over Loki to help her master hold him down.  But Loki wasn't afraid or disappointed.  He sneered up at Seth.

“That’s right, you can’t harm her.  Her power is the only thing keeping me from killing you.  You can’t touch her.”

Seth had walked over and picked up the God-Jewel.  With an air of nonchalance, he peered into its depths.  Then his face morphed into the most sinister of satisfied looks.

“No.  But I can hurt _you_.”

And Lira saw Loki brace himself for the onslaught of pain--but it didn’t happen.  Seth had pointed his staff past him and at... _Thor_.  There was a booming blast as Seth’s magic ignited and shot towards the Thunder God, but it wasn't lightning this time.  Seth had summoned up the deadly soul-searing fires from the realm below: _Hellfire_.  Seth was serious this time.  This wasn't just an ordinary fire.  It was a fiery, mystical energy that caused its victims to experience the most obscene tortures and torments of Hell--and it was Seth’s most favorite weapon.  Thor was on his back and thrashing as the flames licked viciously over him, and even though he wasn’t being physically burned, the agony on his face said it all.

“Now tell me how he means nothing to you,” Seth said to Loki with a vicious smile.  “Tell me my threats are useless, that it doesn’t bother you to see him suffer like this.  To see him die.   _Lie_ to me.”

But Loki couldn’t speak.  He couldn’t even glare at Seth or throw him a haughty retort.  He was staring at Thor, the sparks from Seth’s magical fire reflecting in his eyes.  And then he looked at Lira.

She didn’t even have to read his mind to know what he was wanting to say: _Release me._ Tears formed in her eyes and she tried to blink them away.  She didn’t want to communicate with him.  Now entering his mind, even if he wanted her to, seemed perverse, “an invasion of privacy,” like Steve Rogers had said back in Avengers Tower.   _Steve Rogers..._

The humans, the gods.  Seth was going to have her kill them all.

_< Lira.>_

_No…_

She closed him off.  What would they say to each other?  She didn’t want him to know that she wasn’t his, that she had known nothing but her master’s ways for so long, they had become her ways.  That they had become who _she_ was.  

Seth was laughing and Lira knew why: Thor was dying.

She didn't want to look up, but her eyes flew back to Loki’s as if they were connected by string.  Now he was looking at her the same way he had done when he thought he was dying.  When he thought she had killed him.

“You kneel to no one,” he had told her.

In his last moments, he had thought of her.

“ _You there_.  What's your name?”

It was _Steve_.  Despite all that was happening he was still stubbornly trying to know her name.  But why?  Why did he want to know the name of his killer?  The rest of the Avengers weren’t looking at her.  They were staring at Thor, watching him scream and flail, looking as if each one would gladly give up their life for him, a god they just barely knew.  And Loki… Loki's gaze had finally fallen.  He was on all fours, his head bowed, his body shaking.  He coughed and coughed.  The ash floating from his person seemed to have multiplied since she last had noticed it.  He looked so frail, like a mere puff of air away from dissolving.  Now he would be no match for Seth.  Her master would only have to exhale.  If she released him now, he would die all the sooner.

She had done that to him.  She had killed him.  And not just once-- _twice_.

“Asura?  Is that your name?”

Asura.  The name her master had given her, so very long ago.  The name that those ancient civilizations would scream out as she set their homes and their hearts on fire.  “Anti-God.”  Because a benevolent god wouldn’t do what she did.

_The ending.  The unmaker.  The twilight._

_Always again, over and over.  A neverending cycle._

She looked back at Steve.  Just like the humans had done to Loki, she had broken him.  If he survived this encounter, he would never be the same.  The least she could do was answer him.

She let her voice ring out in their heads.

 _<_ No _.  I am Lira Jigonhsasee, daughter of Egypt and of the Haudenosaunee.  And I am a slave no longer, I am_ free _. >_

A spark on her fingertips.  A ribbon of flame in the air.  A scream.

The God-Jewel was on fire.  And so was Seth.

When her magic had touched the God-Jewel, it had ignited immediately--as well as Seth’s hand.  Barely a second had passed before the flames spread to the rest of his body.  But she couldn’t watch him burn.  The God-Jewel was melting, and she was dying.  Her knees gave out and she collapsed to the ground.

Above her was the sky.  It was slowly turning back to blue.  Did that mean that Thor was still alive?  Had she acted too late?  Always too late…

Her vision was blurring.  The pain… it was so far past pain, it almost felt like nothing.  But Nothing always was the worst of pains.

“Lira…”

She turned her head.  It was Loki.  He had crawled forward and was laying on the ground next to her.

“It was supposed to be me,” he whispered.  “I was already dead.”

_< I couldn’t watch you die.  Not again.  Let me go.  Let me go first.  Please.>_

“Lira...”  He collapsed into a coughing fit.

_< Hold on.  Please.  Don’t go.  Not yet.  Me first.  Me first.> _

She could have laughed at herself.  Here she was--selfish to the end--asking _him_ for something.  There was a peculiar sensation in her left eye as if something heavy had dropped into it, but she blinked it away.  Nothing she was feeling mattered anymore.

_< My child, use this.  Now.  You will know what to do.>_

The voice in her head was strange, but that didn’t matter either.  Maybe it was the souls of the afterlife calling her name, pulling her away.  Angels ready to carry her soul upon their wings to Heaven, demons waiting to sink their claws into her and drag her down to Hell, or even the Nothing spreading its arms to welcome her into its dark embrace--it didn’t matter.  She didn’t care.  She knew that whatever it was would be what she deserved.

“Lira.”

It was Steve.  He was looking down at her, the reminder of what she did to him still there in his eyes.  But there was something else there, too.  Something growing ever larger as he looked at her: _conviction_.  He was going to be okay.

“Be free,” he whispered.

And she was.

****

He should have known.  He should have known that she would do this.  But _he_ had gone back to kill Seth.  To save her, to save Thor, to save…

Everyone.

What had happened to him?  He should have hated her.  She had betrayed him.  She had tried (and likely succeeded) to kill him.  And worse yet--it was like she had burned his heart and put a new one in its place.  Hero?  Villain?  Something in-between?  Now he would die not knowing who he was.

Still…

He reached out.  He ran his fingers under her hair.  He cradled her head in his palm.  Saw a tear slip from her eye and drop down into his hand.  He watched her die.

“Loki.”  

He looked up into Thor’s eyes, so blue, even bluer than the sky behind him.  He wanted them to be the last thing he saw.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped softly.   _Sorry_.  There was truth in his words… and something more.  Even though he had stopped speaking, the word continued to ring in the air, a string of sorrys being pulled out of him, as if he was apologizing for everything that he had ever done.  And he was.

“As am I,” Thor whispered.  His breathing was heavy and an echo of the pain from Seth’s attack was still there on his face, but he would live.  Somehow, Loki knew, he would live.  Now he could let go.

“No,” Thor said, tears winking in his eyes.   “Stay with me.”

But Loki couldn’t.

This was it.  There was nothing to save him this time.  There was only...

Peace.  Finally.

 _Peace_.


	20. A Horse Is A Horse

He didn't exist.  He couldn't see, he couldn't feel.  His body was gone.  He had died, for real this time.

He didn't exist.

And then... he _did_.

There was a feeling like air rushing into his lungs, but it couldn't be.  Then he was gasping, but how could he?  He didn't have a mouth.  Slowly, strangely, a feeling spread beneath him.  It was like he was lying on something, but how was that possible?  He didn't have a body.  Now he was hearing sounds, distantly at first but growing louder as if the sounds were rushing towards him.  It was the noise of a battle.  Was this the afterlife?  Was this... Niflheim?

There was a feeling above him.  It was tiny, but it was there.  _Eyelids_.  It was like he had _eyelids_.  But what did eyelids do?  What was their purpose?  He couldn't remember…

And then he did.  He opened his eyes.

He could _see_.  His vision was half obscured, but he could still see strange blurred shapes all around him.  There was something on his face.  He could feel an airy softness around his head, but then it moved and suddenly, his eyes cleared.

He was lying on grass.  All around him were the sounds of war; the clanging of weapons, the cries of the victorious, the wails of the fallen.  And above him was--

 _Sif_.  He would recognize her face anywhere, even in the afterlife.  She was peering down at him, her beautiful blue eyes fierce, her Asgardian armor riddled with dents and smears of blood, and--

Her _hair_.  It was... _blonde_.

It took him a moment to remember how to speak.  “Sif,” he gasped.  Weakly, he raised a hand and gently touched the soft blonde strands hanging over his face.  He could _feel_ them.  “Your hair…”

She turned her head.  “Healers!” she cried.

“Mother!”

A new voice.  Still reeling from the thousands of new sensations flooding his body, Loki looked to his other side.  There was a young girl kneeling next to him, and her lovely face was so similar to Sif’s, all Loki could do was stare.

“Mother, I want to fight!”

“No,” Sif said sharply.  “Go to the castle. _Now_.”

“But Mother--”

“Go!” Sif barked and the girl took off immediately.  Slowly, feeling in his body returned, and with it came an intense, burning pain.  He tried to rise but fell back with a groan.

“Shh, lay back,” Sif murmured.  “Don't worry about the Marauders.  Our army has them in retreat.”

“The Marauders?” Loki asked weakly.  He was so confused.  The pain was making his eyesight blur, and before he knew it, darkness swooped up to fill his eyes once more.  Just before he lost consciousness, his thoughts stirred.  _A dream.  It had been… a dream.  One last dream._

****

“I was there.  I saw it happen.  Right in the chest.  Went in almost as deep as the fletching.”

“Looks like it hit the left ventricle.”

“When he collapsed, I thought for sure he was dead.  It’s a miracle that he’s alive--”

“Shh!  He’s coming around.”

Loki shifted and groaned.  There was a dull pressure in his chest and his vision was blurred again.  It felt like he was deep underwater, everything was so muffled and disorienting.  But then his senses were rushing back towards him as if he had just come up out of the water for air.  He tried to sit up.

“Please try not to move.”

A man’s voice, soothing yet firm.  Loki blinked the last of the haziness from his eyes and looked up.  There were two men standing over him.  Both had cropped white hair and neatly manicured beards, and they were completely covered by billowing robes of white.  Their clothes were so bright, they seemed to cast a glowing aura around the men that obscured everything else.  Loki frowned.  Was this Valhalla?  Heaven?  Were they... angels?

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I am Eirun,” the man closest to him said automatically.  “The castle’s head healer.”  The expression on the man’s face grew troubled.  “Do you… not remember me?”

Loki ignored him.  “Where am I?  What is this place?”

Now both men were looking worried.  “This… this is Asgard,” Eirun replied with a small frown.

“ _What_?”  At first, it was like Loki’s ears were keeping him from hearing what the man had said.  But when the words finally sunk in, his gaze darted chaotically around the room as if trying to see everything at once.  He had gotten used to the magical glow emanating from the healers, so now he could tell that the room he was in wasn’t bright at all.  Yes, it was large, but its walls weren’t the gleaming gold metals of the palace; they were rough and uneven, even a little dirty.  Dark wooden beams crisscrossed across the ceiling, and the few narrow windows on the walls were open to the outside.  Loki himself was stretched out on a rugged-looking bed that happened to be the only furniture in the room.  He shifted and immediately felt the feathers crinkle in the mattress below him.  Loki shook his head, his confused feelings morphing into something that could have been fear but came out as anger.  “ _No_ , this isn’t Asgard.  Why do you lie?”

“You were severely wounded on the battlefield by an arrow.  Please, lay back.  You need to rest.”

But Loki didn’t feel like resting.  He tried to rise again but fell back before the men could stop him this time.  The pain in his chest had pulsed and spread throughout his body like an angry wave.  Automatically, he looked down.  He was wearing a green robe that was open in the front, exposing the bright four inch scar on the left side his chest.  Loki could tell that the wound was only a few hours old-- _and_ that invisible threads of magic were rippling over and around it, acting like powerful antibodies to speed up the healing process.  Once again, he frowned.  But he _hadn’t_ taken an arrow to the chest.  He had taken one to the--

His hands flew to his face.  “Mirror!” he gasped.  “I need a mirror!”

The second healer rushed to obey and was back before Loki’s shocked mind could unfreeze itself.

His _eye_.  It was healed.  But not only healed.  It looked and felt like it hadn’t even been injured at all.  There was a prickle in the back of his mind.  Something about this was unnerving him.  Something about this was not right.  If this was the afterlife, why did he feel and think just like he did when he was alive?  Then he remembered.

“ _Odin’s vault_ ,” he whispered.

Odin _.  Again._ Always again.  Had Loki not even died?  Now the All-Father could cheat death itself?  Would he ever let Loki win?  What would Loki have to do, what lengths would he have to go through, if he couldn’t even best Odin with his own death?  He threw his head back.

“ _ODIN!_ ” he cried.  _“Where are you, Odin?”_ His voice rose hysterically with each word.  _“Where are you, All-Father?  Where are you, you Father of Lies?”_

The healers had stepped forward, their hands stretched towards him in a placatinggesture.  “My lord--”

_“I know you are there!  Release me!”_

“But--my lord--”

_“Where are you All-Father?  Where are you?”_

“But my lord,” said Eirun more firmly (but his eyes were still wide with shock).  _“You_ are the All-Father.”

A tightening.  A dying of words.  A painful intake of breath.  He… was the All-Father?  Oh, how he had longed to hear those words, to let them seep into his pores, overtake his senses, set fire to the coldness that he had buried so deeply in his chest, and for a small moment, he let himself believe them, just so he could know how it felt.

But then…

“ _Lies_ ,” Loki snarled.  “ _All lies_.  You. Are. Lies!”  There was a stirring inside him, powerful, explosive, and before he knew it both healers had been blasted back against the wall.  He gasped again.  His magic… he had never felt it this way before.  Raw.  Barely contained.  So… _untrained_.

But he wasn’t able to ponder this long.  There was another blast of light, and it wasn’t from him this time; it was from _Eirun_.  Now the look on the healer’s face was no longer calming, or afraid.  It was determined.  Bright yellow light was emanating from his outstretched hand to fill up Loki’s vision again, and before Loki knew it, Eirun’s magic had forced him back into unconsciousness.

****

This time when Loki awoke, he did so slowly.  He didn’t move or open his eyes.  He simply listened.  As far as he could tell, there was no one else in the room.  Slowly, he opened an eye.

He was alone. _Perfect_.

Expecting pain, he hesitantly opened his other eye but felt nothing.  His eye truly was good and whole again.  Thick wool blankets had been pulled up to his chin, and despite the chill coming in from the windows, it was stifling.  Gently, he sat up and shrugged the blankets off.

“You’re awake.”

He jerked, startled, and a jolt of pain shot through the wound in his chest.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.”

Standing in the open doorway was the girl, the one from the battlefield.  The one who looked so much like--

“The healers say you've lost your memory.”  She stepped further into the room, and her blue eyes never left his.  “Do you... remember me?”

There was something in her voice or on her face that made Loki feel like he didn't want to disappoint her.  He could have lied, said he _did_ know her, and then deftly questioned her to find out the truth about where he was.  But a nagging feeling was tugging at him, compelling him to be honest.  It was something deep, like a once-forgotten memory floating just out of reach, a burning question that needed to be answered above all the rest.

“No, I don't.  I'm sorry,” he said quietly.

Her delicate black brows knitted together, but her face didn’t take on the perturbed expression that had bloomed so vividly on the healers’ faces earlier.  Despite her youth, there was a sort of fierceness behind her eyes; Loki could sense it as easily as he could sense her affinity for magic.

He was quiet for a moment, waiting to see if she would reply.  But she simply continued to look at him.  Finally, he had to say something.  “And you are?” he prompted.

She pressed her lips together, clearly unhappy (and almost suspicious) that she had to answer this question.  But answer it she did.  “I am Skaldi.”  Her eyes bored into his.  “Your daughter.”

“My…?”  Loki's mouth dropped open.  He knew he looked like a fool, but he didn't care.  “I have no daughter,” he said automatically (and more than a little panicked).

At this, the suspicious expression in her eyes deepened, but she remained quiet.  Loki waited for her to speak, to provide proof of this, the most absurd of claims.  But just like last time, she didn’t, and Loki was startled to realize that she was using silence to prompt him into speaking first, to hastily blurt out the truths she wanted to know… just like _he_ used to do.

Loki swallowed hard.  He didn’t think his gifted mind could handle being so confused.  Finally, he let a bit of air hiss out between his teeth in a small, resigned sigh.  He had to ask.  He _had_ to.  “Who... is your mother?”

This seemed to finally unfreeze her.“You really don’t remember,” she breathed.  Now the fiercely confident look in her eyes had lightened into stunned amazement, but she didn’t wait long before answering.  And Loki would wish that she _had_.

“It’s Sif,” she said, her voice still tinged with wonder.  “She is the All-Mother.  She is your wife.  Do you know of whom I speak?”

Loki couldn’t respond; there were no more words on his tongue.  There was only a sound in his ears, building to a roar, masking all other sounds.  Not true.  It couldn’t be true.  He had gone so long trying to convince himself that this thought--this _dream_ \--wasn’t allowed, that it was unwelcome, deplorable even.  And like earlier, he so desperately wanted to let himself believe it, _just_ for a moment, _just_ to experience how it felt--but he didn’t.  He was nothing to Sif, _nothing_.  She hated him.  _Had_ hated him.  Had…?

“This… isn't right.  What is this place?”

Now even his vision seemed to be leaving him.  He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear.  It was like the black hole had opened up in his chest and was sucking in every sound, every hope, every dream, every good feeling, every chance for peace, and leaving only the lies.

His voice rose.  _“Where am I?  What is this?”_

Just like the healers had done before, the girl held up her hands, palms forward.  “Father, the healers said that if you become agitated again, I will have to restrain you.  Please don’t make me.”

“This is a lie…”

“Father--”

“Stop calling me that!” Loki shouted.  “I am _not_ your father!”

He didn’t know why he said that to her, spitting it out like venom, even though it was true.  For the first time since their meeting, he saw a glimmer of hurt cross her face, and this quieted him.  He struggled to find the words to… what?  Apologize?  For telling the truth?  Before this day, he had _never_ seen this girl, _not_ in Asgard, _not_ during his childhood, not even in dreams or deeply-buried memories.  She was tricking him.  They _all_ were: the healers; Sif; this false daughter before him; even this Other-Asgard, the dark doppelganger to his golden one.  He could feel his power churn as his emotions rose, and the look on Skaldi’s face suggested that she could feel it, too.  He should have tried to calm himself, but instead, he threw his head back, savoring the buildup.  It had been _so long_ since he had felt his magic this way, so wild, so eager, so like it had been when he had first discovered it, and it thrilled his tired bones.

But, no, no--he mustn’t lose control!  This wasn’t him.  He needed to beat that reminder into his head… or else he would forget himself, _lose_ himself just like the last time he was in this cursed place.  Savagely, he gnashed his teeth together, forcing the magic back down.  The temperature in the room began to drop, and once he felt Skaldi relax, Loki knew that _he_ could.

And it had been just in the nick of time.

He looked over the side of his bed.  Two blue eyes were staring up at him, and they weren’t Skaldi’s.  They belonged to a child.  A girl several years younger than Skaldi, but with her same pale skin, dark hair, and delicate features.  Nonplussed, Loki stared back at her for a moment, but then she was hoisting herself on top of his bed and crawling into his lap.

And Loki didn't know what to do.  He tried to scoot away from her but only ended up being stopped by the backboard.

“Mistle, _don't_.  Don't bother Father.  He’s injured.   _Mistle_.”  Skaldi sighed.  “She never listens to me.”

Loki had his hands up, refusing to touch her, but now, unconsciously, they dropped back into his lap. The child had just been sitting there calmly, watching him with a hint of an inquisitive smile on her face.  Now she reached forward and placed her tiny hands on his.  And Loki felt his black heart stir.  She was unlike any child he had ever met.  Her silence, the way she looked at him, so serenely--it was like she had already decided to like him, to _accept_ him, in the most pure way an innocent child could: _completely_ , despite all the horror that he was.

And somehow, he knew.  She _was_ his child, just like Skaldi.  They were his daughters.  His and Sif’s.  And as truly as Sif was the All-Mother, _he_ was the All-Father, of an Asgard straight out of his dreams.

And that was when he knew with absolute certainty that he was in Odin’s vault.

He tried to remain calm.  Gently, he grasped the girl under both arms and lifted her towards her sister.

“I’m sorry,” he said to both of them.  “I-I… need to be alone.  To rest.  I’m sorry,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say.

Skaldi had hoisted Mistle to her hip.  The way they both looked at him made something in his chest ache, and he held his breath until they left.

****

Loki’s feet hit the floor.  No matter what everyone (including his own body) was saying, he didn’t need to rest.  He needed to explore.  He was certain that he would find evidence that proved he was back in Odin’s insidious prison.  He just had to make sure he wasn’t caught by Eirun--the healer’s power was considerable, especially in Loki’s weakened state.  It appeared that the healer took his practice very seriously; he was sure to put Loki straight back into his bed (and asleep) if Loki wasn't careful.  But Loki had spent so long perfecting the art of stealth, he could almost waltz down the halls of this Other-Asgard without being seen by anyone, despite how unfamiliar it was.  _So unfamiliar._  It was opposite his Asgard in almost every way.  For starters, this royal castle was much smaller; as far as Loki could tell, it only had _one_ kitchen and _one_ dining room, which Loki thought was preposterous.  How could one kitchen accommodate the royal family _plus_ the many guests that so often came to visit?  And the lone dining room wasn’t even that spectacular.  It was almost completely bare except for a long wooden table--a _wooden_ table!--that could seat twenty.  As far as he knew, there wasn’t an observation room, and he hadn’t even stumbled upon a book yet ( _was there not a library??_ )  Yes, this Other-Asgard was looking less and less like the one in his dreams.

After what seemed liked hours, Loki found himself in a narrow hallway.  There was a door ahead of him.  It was wooden, like all the others, but it had caught his eye immediately: it was _black_.  Grimly, he pressed his lips together as he approached it.  Here would be the proof he needed.  If everything was suspiciously ordinary behind this door, or if Odin himself was there, he would know that this was all a ruse.  He made to grasp the door handle, but the door swung open on its own, startling him.  It was like it had sensed him coming.  Cautiously, he peeked into the room and all suspicious thoughts left him.

It was Odin’s Treasure Room.  True to its name, there were treasures sitting on several stands around the dimly lit chamber, but Loki barely noticed them.  His eyes had immediately flown to the back wall and stuck. _The Casket of Ancient Winters._  It was unmistakable: the dull glow emanating from within, so reminiscent of ice itself; the drop in temperature as Loki walked closer to it; the quickening of his heart when he reached out to grasp its handles.  Everything was the same.  Everything, _except--_

Loki looked down at himself.

His _hands_.

They weren’t blue.

They hadn’t changed.

But why?

What did this mean?

That he...

That he… _wasn’t_ a Frost Giant.

He was _Asgardian_ , completely _._

_Just like he had always dreamed._

The casket fell from his hands and he stumbled back.  Out of all the revelations of this false dream, this was the worst, and he collapsed to the ground and stayed there, unmoving, as if the casket _had_ frozen him.

“No…”

Who was he?  Who _was_ he?  His hands bored into his hair.

“No, no, no-- _ODIN!_    _Release me!_   _Please!”_

If not a Frost Giant, then what?

“ _No_ ,” he moaned.  “Not again… not again…”

If not a monster, then what?

“ _I am not your son, I am not your son, I am not your_ \--”

“That will not work.”

Loki looked up.  There was a sound in his ears like thunder, but then the sound seemed to spread across the room, rising and falling in pitch until he realized that it wasn’t thunder.  It was the pounding of thousands of hooves, and before long, his suspicions were confirmed when a shadowy herd of wild horses whooshed through the wall in front of him.  They were on him before he could move, but he was safe--it turned out they were only spirits, and they passed straight through him, disappearing behind the back wall as if they were simply running along the Great Plains.  Loki got to his feet as horse spirit after horse spirit galloped through him, and he didn’t know what to do.

Finally, the herd of horses parted.  Galloping towards him on a sleek Appaloosa roan was a man, his long black hair whipping in the phantom wind.  His smooth brown skin stretched over a perfectly chiseled chest, and beneath the only article of clothing he wore, a buckskin loincloth, Loki could tell that he was riding barebacked.  As he reached the middle of the room, he smoothly jumped off the back of the horse and walked towards Loki.  Now that he was closer, Loki could see the wide plains of his face, the strong nose, and the eerie, alien-ness in his obsidian-black eyes.

“That will not work,” he said again, and though the look in his eyes was so strange it was intimidating, his voice was jovial and even slightly sing-song.  “Because you are not in Odin’s vault.”

His words snapped Loki out of his surprise.  “What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

“I meant what I said, that you are not in Odin’s vault,” the man said with a slight smile. “If I had meant otherwise, I would have said so.”

Loki couldn’t help it, he glared at the man.  “Well, then, what is this place?”

“What does it seem like to you?”

Irritably, Loki sighed.  Would no one give him the answer he desired?  “Everyone here is trying to convince me that this is Asgard, but it’s _not_ ,” he said firmly.  “It’s not.  Nothing here is real.”

“And yet _you_ are real and you are here.”

Loki grimaced and rubbed his temples with his hand.  A very _real-feeling_ headache was forming behind his eyes.  Here was another mysterious man, meeting him under strange circumstances, and Loki was not in the mood to go through this allusive dance again.  “Who are you?” he demanded.

“I am known by many names to many creatures.  Dimitar, Horse Lord, Earth Father, and so on.  But, if you so choose, you may call me Tuwa.”

Loki frowned.  _Earth... Father?_  Then it hit him.  “You’re an _Elder_ ,” he breathed.

Tuwa didn’t answer.  His only movement was a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth.

Loki shook his head.  If he had thought he was thoroughly confused earlier, it didn’t compare to what he was feeling now.  “But I don’t recognize you.”

“You do.  Just not in this form.  And in this place.”  At this last sentence, Tuwa’s eyes seemed to focus even more intently on Loki, and Loki suppressed a shiver; it was like looking into the wildest of hearts.

_In this place..._

What was the Earth Father trying to tell him?

It was like a riddle.  A hidden meaning.

_In this place..._

Loki cupped his chin as he thought.

Not that... but this.

Not then, but now.

Not there, but here.

In. This. Place.

Loki gasped.

He _understood_.

Another Asgard.

This body…  Another Loki.

_Another universe._

Apparently satisfied by the a wild-eyed look of realization that spread across Loki’s face, Tuwa went on.  “Us Elders do not possess the power to pass through the multiverse, or to even communicate with our Elder counterparts.  But Gaea…  She’s clever, your Earth Mother.  She discovered a way.”

 _Multiverse_.

Loki was so shocked, he could barely get the words out.  “And did she... transport me here?  Into this body?”

“Mmm, yes and no,” Tuwa said lightly, as if enjoying a private joke.  “She had the ability, but she gave it to another.”

“Who?” Loki asked, even though he realized that he knew.

“ _Lira_.”

A hint of an amused smile was hovering around the edges of Tuwa’s mouth again as he watched Loki’s face flick through a range of emotions.  “It was she whose eyes were opened.  It was she who saw all the doors.  And it was she who chose this universe for _you_.”

“I thought I had died,” Loki whispered, as if to himself.

“You did.  And you were given a new life.”

Loki was shaking his head again.  “But _why_?”

“That is known only to Gaea,” Tuwa said simply.  “Something she declined to inform me of when she contacted me through the multiverse.”

Asgardian.  All-Father.  Sif.  Their children.

It was everything he had ever wanted.  And it was _true_.

But what about--

“Thor,” he gasped.  “What about Thor?  Does he exist… in this universe?”

Tuwa tilted his head upwards as if he was looking through the ceiling.  “He does.  He’s searching for you at this very moment.  Hmm, it appears your head healer is quite... agitated.”

For the first time since he awoke in this other-place, Loki let a small smile relax his lips.  He was still so shocked, it felt like his brain was going to burst out of his skull in protest, but he was also starting to feel something else: a strange, but soothing, warmth.  Was this... happiness?

_It was._

The sights and sounds of thousands of galloping horses began to fill up the chamber again, and then Tuwa had jumped onto the back of a brown and white mare.  The Elder grasped the horse’s mane, and she tossed her head, her bright black eyes--so like her master's--looking ready to join the rest of the herd.

But Loki had remembered something.  He cupped his hands around his mouth.  “Wait!” he called over the noise.  “Does she live?”

This time, Tuwa didn’t hold back; he flashed Loki a wide, sparkling smile.  “She does indeed.”  And with that, the Earth Father was off, riding among the rest of the herd until he blended in and was gone from Loki’s sight.  When the last horse spirit passed through the back wall, Loki was once again confronted by the quiet stillness of the Treasure Room-- _his_ Treasure Room.  He felt like he would never be rid of the feeling of wonder filling his chest.  In fact, he was _so_ awestruck, it was like he was a child again, wide-eyed and breathless, full of hope and wild abandon, and _whole_.

He had so many questions.  There was so much to explore, to experience.  This wasn’t a false dream anymore, this was _real_ \--a dream he could shape and hold in his hands.  Gone were the nightmares, gone was his pain, gone was the beast.  And that was when he remembered.

Gone was Frigga, gone was Thor, the ones he had known-- _his_ Frigga, _his_ Thor--and the heady euphoria he had been experiencing dimmed.  But there was a Thor here, in _this_ universe.  Were they still brothers?  Now that he was fully Asgardian, were they… _blood_ brothers?  And Frigga…  Surely there was a Frigga in this Other-Asgard.  And maybe, just maybe an Odin who understood him.

And Lira…

Tuwa had said that she lived.  But was the Elder referring to the Lira in _this_ universe or his?  Loki had no idea, but he was starting to feel that exquisite sense of hopefulness again.  No matter how different his new body was, he still had his mind, his memories.  If he crossed the multiverse once, _surely_ he could figure out a way to do it a second time.  And a third.  And on and on.

A loud voice sounded outside the door and Loki recognized it immediately: it was _Thor_.  Suddenly nervous, Loki bit his lip.  What if this Thor was different?  He was both excited _and_ frightened by this thought.  But it didn’t really matter, did it? he mused to himself.  No matter what his relationship was with this Other-Thor, Loki would make it right this time.  He would make it right.

The door handle was turning, and the butterflies that were already in his stomach seemed to whirl themselves into a tizzy.  _A new beginning_ , he reminded himself, and with a lightness in his heart and a spring in his step, Loki walked forward towards his destiny.

 

*  *  *  *

 

Gaea was staring at the board.  Slowly, deliberately, she raised her eyes up to look at Set.

“ _Checkmate_.”

“No…” growled Set.

The widest of smiles was stretching across her face.

_“I win.”_

“NO!” Set roared.  He jumped to his feet and flung the chessboard into the air, sending game pieces flying.  But Gaea had already moved out of the way.  She raised a hand.  And Set started to shrink.

Set had disappeared under the table completely before Gaea lowered her arm.  Casually, she walked around the table.  Sitting on Set’s chair was a small white rabbit.  When Gaea bent to pick it up, it tried to scurry away but wasn't fast enough.  She caught it and pulled it close to her chest.

“Don't be a sore loser, Brother Dear,” she cooed as she stroked its ears.  “There are _worse_ forms to be stuck in for five millennia.  You should be thankful.”

And surprising even herself, Gaea started to laugh.  She threw her head back, and the laugh grew louder, drowning out the sounds of life around her.

“Well done, Gaea, well done!”

And just as abruptly as it had come on, the laughter died.  Gaea lowered her head.  Floating slowly through her enchanted forest was an ominous cloud of gloom.  Just like Set’s old snake heads, the cloud was in constant motion.  Wispy tendrils of smoke rippled around the cloud’s edges, and every so often, tiny bolts of lightning would crackle across its surface and linger like a warning.

Gaea’s eyes were wide.  “Chthon?” she whispered.

The cloud had stopped in front of her.  From within its shadowy core gleamed two red eyes.

“Looks like fun, Sister. _Can I play?”_

  
  
  
To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for the multiverse as well as the idea of "seeing all the doors" is from Bioshock Infinite.
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> Aaaannnddd it's done. Finally. Yay!
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> Thanks everyone for reading and for the kudos and comments! You don't know how much it all means to me. <3 I hope you all enjoyed it and don't hate me too much for the cliffhangers and my excessive use of commas, italics, and the word "and." ^_^;;


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